


Gods Never Die

by THA_THUMPP



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Albert Wesker Survives, Angst, C-Virus, Chris Redfield MPREG, Chris is injected with the C-virus Prototype, Complicated Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, Fondling, Jill and Chris are partners again, M/M, Mpreg, Neo Umbrella, New villian, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Plot Twists, Post Resident Evil 5, Pre-Resident Evil 6, Random OCs - Freeform, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reunions, Revenge Sex, Secret Organizations, Slow Build, Tricell, there IS a plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1587146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/THA_THUMPP/pseuds/THA_THUMPP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months have passed since Kijuju's outbreak, as well as the death of Albert Wesker, and Chris Redfield finds himself on the shores of Guatemala on yet another assignment for the B.S.A.A.. His destination is the small village of Rojogana, where there's been a supposed leak of Tricell's priceless Intel. But everyone knows – including Chris – that Excella Gionne and her company went up in flames that fateful day, and that the B.S.A.A. were the only ones to salvage any data from the Oil Field Irving detonated before his death...</p><p>Has enough time passed for Chris' scars to finally heal? And who could possibly be the mastermind behind this bioterrorist attack?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a revamped version of a story we originally started on FanFiction a couple years ago. Due to the length of our chapters, multiple POVs, and fanfiction's buckling down on M-rated material, we've decided to restart it here. 
> 
> On that note, please be patient! Things will definitely start picking up in chapters to come, so we hope you'll stick around until then! Feel free to comment, subscribe, kudos, and/or bookmark... Your feedback is our motivation! Cheers!
> 
> P.S. We know some people don't like OCs, but with where we're planning on taking this story (with only three iconic characters) we need a few extras as a contingency... It'll all play out and tie-in nicely at the end, you'll see!

_**[INTERCEPTING TRANSMISSION]** _

_**In the next XX:XX hours there will be a boat heading to the coast of Guatemala, where we will ensue to identify the situation and devise whether or not this Intel our department received about Tricell's involvement is reliable or not.** _

_**A team, including two of our best operatives, has been deployed…|** _

_**[END TRANSMISSION]** _

**___________________**

14.7162° N, 90.6185° W, Rojogana, Guatemala, Coordinates

June 24, 2010, 18:22 p.m.

The scorching sun was falling fast from its roost, rumbling clouds rolling in from the east as a black SUV, followed by four or five military jeeps, flew down a muddy path through dense forest. It was an off-road journey, wheels seemingly hitting every sharp rut and pothole; engine roaring like it was meant for an aircraft and not an automobile. But the passengers inside couldn't tell because the windows were soundproof, though whatever went on inside the vehicle was another story.

“That fiend!” A fist was slammed against the tinted glass in the back seat of the hummer, a growl just as fierce as another pound. “Curse him for leaking such valuable information…” Sylon Gepfner's Russian accent was thick, just like his ring, which scraped against the window in a subtle screech as he straightened himself. “Fredek is going to be a hard one to replace.” His cobalt tie was fixed simultaneously with the kink in his neck and a deeper, “But I do not have time or resources to find another under such short notice.”

There was an attaché case next to his feet, silver like a dollar, reflecting the value of its contents. His nameplate holding a similar shine displaying the title _Executive Director_ , pinned to his cream-colored lapel. Gepfner slicked at his hair in a nasally sigh, before dragging his hand to his chin where he rubbed his goatee in thought; mind coiling around his thrown duties as he peered out the window.

It was getting dark.

“Six months with this _contributor_ of yours, and we've found more moles than in the last eight years.” The agent sitting across from Gepfner was now speaking. “Something's not adding up.” He was wearing a biohazard uniform, the normal parched white overpowered by a pair of teal gloves hanging lax between his legs, elbows resting on his knees and he barely jerked from another bump in the road. “Think we should jump ship, sir? Leave the island? Their reinforcements will be here by tomorrow. We won't have—”

“No.” Gepfner's words came quick. “We are far too deep to pull back now. So what if the B.S.A.A. are on their way? It is what _he_ wants.” And at the mention of _that man_ , Gepfner glanced down at a manila portfolio on his lap, opening it up to reveal a list of patients and pictures. But there was only one photograph he was interested in. It was an old Polaroid, paper clipped to the front side of the file where he plucked it off. “And my Aunya.” It was said in a whisper as he stroked the side of a child's face in the image. “She cannot wait any longer.”

The operative turned his attention elsewhere in an understanding silence, a collage of orange and red hues dancing off his mask as the jungle's canopy was left behind on the horizon. “We're almost at the site.”

Gepfner gave a short _mhm_ in acknowledgement, putting his feelings and the folder aside as he picked up the case on the ground. It opened in a hissing _pshh_ , revealing three healthy vials of an amethyst liquid, to which one was removed carefully, “Civil.” and handed to the agent addressed, who leaned forward to take the small container. “You know what you must do.”

There was a nod between men as the SUV pulled into a halt. The transition as smooth as to be expected in rural soil, the wheels under the car grinding to park, and soon there was an abrupt tap on the driver's window.

A militant, not from Gepfner's company but the government, stood opposite the glass. He looked like all militiamen, decked out in heavy gear; one hand glued to the machinegun strapped across his chest, which was soon flashed like a medal of honor to show them he meant business. Though when his efforts to be noticed weren't met, he resorted to another tap. This time with a shielded gaze into the backseat, asking for credentials in his native tongue before motioning for them to exit their vehicle.

But Gepfner simply continued to ignore the official with a relaxed lean. “I thought you said this site was off map?”

“It is, sir.” Civil was confident with his answer as he turned to gaze out the passenger window, noticing a few more guards stationed around the entrance of their destination. “Management must've just started buckling down on their routine checks of all villages… How should we proceed?”

“We cannot afford to waste anymore time... Wrap this up quickly, mhm?”

“I'll take care of it.”

Civil was opening the door before another knock could be rapped against the side of the SUV. A handgun now drawn from his belt, fully assembled with a silencer as he skillfully put a bullet between the guard's eyes. It was at point blank and it was personal, but it was also fast and the other units didn't know what was happening until their comrade's body fell. Three more down by the time the fourth was pulling at his own weapon, but by then it was too late.

A final shot was soon emptied from the enemy's gun, sending swift death to the last target. It was a merciless killing and with all threats now neutralized, Civil had time for a relaxed reload; swapping clips with a controlled _click_ just as the car door swung shut behind him. Though he didn't need to get back in and after a pocket to his firearm and tap to the hummer's hood, he signaled the driver to follow, all the while walking along side into the village square.

The place held a rustic view. Houses strewn about unevenly among a reservoir of sand, looking like old-timers playing cards at a casino, which was a real contrast against the distant jungle bordering all edges. But perhaps it was due to all the inhabitants' constant activity, rubbing the earth raw with their steps and suffocating any greenery with placed belongings. Though disease was also to blame for the malnurtured appearance of the land, but that's what made it a high target area.

Gepfner cloaked his mouth with a hankie from inside his lapel before stepping out of the vehicle to unite with his agent and joining translator. “Ask around and find out which Sector we visited last. We do not want to prioritize an area that is not severe with infection.”

After all, it had to be deadly – as deadly as it came for the results to be genuine. Gepfner wanted an authentic trial, although it wasn't really a _trial_ anymore. Today was the real deal, the initiation of what he'd been working on these past six months. And when all the right information was gathered and positions taken, everyone was within Sector B, which was only a walk away.

This was Gepfner's moment of truth, a day to be joyous about, and he wore it in a smile. But no one could see this. His single, golden tooth hidden beneath the handkerchief as it subconsciously reflected the mood via village lamps, which were being lit in an attempt to defend the community against the incoming darkness – the storm and the night. Though this alone wouldn't save them from the shadows already among their people.

Although some knew to be scared. It was in their eyes as Gepfner and his group approached. The village men and women peering aimlessly from the haven of their quarters. A mother holding her baby closer to suffocate its cries as she glanced with spacious, beige sockets to the rest of her family.

Someone would die tonight.

“How do you want this done, sir?” Civil was scanning for possible targets.

“Anyone will do, really.” Gepfner decided with a wave of his hand, inspecting the faces of those hiding and those cowering or standing about. “Just put Project-C into effect.”

“Understood.”

There was no hesitation when Civil walked in among the scattered villagers. The hollow eyes of his mask leaving the people unsure of his next move, which came when no one was expecting it. An innocent fruit dealer wrapping up his business for the night was tripped – legs kicked out first before he was choked into a hold. The papayas in his cart clattering to the ground like the children's game of marbles in the alley over, which caused a young boy to stop his turn and watch.

It was a struggle. Despite the native's wiry appearance he was more agile than Civil had imagined – underestimated – and the agent had trouble getting a firm grip. But in the end he got it, snapping the man's arm in half in a crumble to the ground. It was painful to witness and two villagers tried to rush to their neighbor's aid. However, Civil used his victim's vexed back as support for a roll, tumbling over with ease. All the while dodging the first man, and then kicking the second away, shortly advancing with a grab and neck-breaking move.

The body fell with a _thud_ and everyone's attention was alert. Eyes in awe as Civil predatorily returned to the local groveling among his papayas; knocking out the only arm struggling for movement before claiming a shoulder with the heel of his boot, pinning the man to the ground while digging for the vial – the one Gepfner had given him in the car – in his back pouch. It was drawn and handled with care, dark cyan hands turning the needle for injection, readying it in a stoop—

Until a high pitched, “Pa… Papa!” had Civil on hold as the scrawny boy who had witnessed the fight from the ally hobbled into view, a noticeable burn-like rash coating his legs, eyes puffy and red, equally filled with mucus and tears. It was a sight and this brave reaction triggered desperate hands from cracked windows, the hands of other villagers, who were trying to prevent the kid from his sightless rush – a foolish son trying to inherit his father's job of protection.

But this was perfect.

“That one.” Gepfner called, feeling drawn to the child. His age looking roughly like that of his daughter's and this resemblance immediately put the son as top priority, making Gepfner feel as though he was obliged to use him. “He will do.”

The words were barely off the Director's tongue when Civil went for the boy, changing direction like the weather, wasting no time on the snatch. It was done in one try, one giant heave, and so was the injection. Flipped in-hand and inserted into the youngster's neck with little-to-no resistance, ending with a few stray steps as the body fought manipulation before a dust-stirring _thud_.

It was done, and Civil withdrew to be by his employer's side as the injured father crawled to be by his son's. The man's broken arm not enough to stifle his responsibility as a parent and gestures of worry were thrown and groaned while searching his boy for signs of what was just administered. Though in the end, there was nothing he could do except hold his child's head atop his knees, cooing foreign whispers in a gentle soothe.

Although the hush only persisted for so long. It was broken when an abrupt, raspy yowl blared from the boy's throat, which widened and twisted as though he was possessed, startling his dedicated father in a flop backwards. But not just him, the other villagers as well and it was then that blood soon joined the wails, starting as a few streaks from the corners of the kid's eyes as his arms flailed wildly and body convulsed.

His hands reaching to the sky as if he was offering himself to a god before collapsing, and a seizure followed just as the clouds above released its stored precipitation, scattering rain among the dry and overturned earth. It was a refreshing gesture, but did very little to enrich the experience, and it was Gepfner's turn to show remorse, though not for the same reasons as the father.

“It appears things are picking up sooner than expected…” He was referencing the weather, and a hand was soon held out to swat at some of the detached mist with a muffled, “I want you to commence plan B.” and turn to Civil, who called in a request via the walkie-talkie hooked to his belt.

“Send in the _Quiet One_.”

The wait after wasn't long, and in a matter of minutes a squall was upon them; deforming the surrounding trees in a dramatic bend just as a black helicopter zoomed over the village in a swoop. Doors were pulled wide for men cloaked in uniform as they slid in unison down descending ropes, shortly trampling the carcasses of those wounded or dead, which were laid like drunks in the aftermath of a celebration with raging winds as the background ambiance.

Everything was so loud, almost to the point that Civil had to practically yell, “The kid! Watch out for the _kid_!” with an informative gesture and repeat himself a few times before the other operatives understood. And upon conception, the father of the child was mercilessly dragged away from his flesh and blood to be beaten separately as though he was a gang member found in a rival's turf.

It happened fast, the splattering of his brains censored by the body of the soldier given the order of elimination. But after the initial bunt, the parent was left to gape in death at his offspring's evolution, the alarmed cries of observing villagers mixing with their fear as they were quickly rounded like cattle for slaughter.

Here sat a town no one would miss, buried within the nightfall horrors of its once calm evening, raindrops and bodies now plummeting together. Although the water came in more abundance than flesh, turning the grounds into a wetland, puddles forming like mini lakes. And this homeland was sacred no longer, exhibiting the same chaos as that of excited flies drawn to the dead.

It was a slaughterhouse. The commands of Gepfner and the actions of his men bringing terror to those few managing to flee, branding their memories with panic and confusion as they disappeared into the dark woods like mice in a cornfield, to which many soldiers tried to pursue on instinct.

However, Civil's demanding cry of, “No! Leave them! They're not worth it!” halted the hunt as he grabbed shoulder-to-shoulder, motioning out and about at the hinterland against the cascade crashing down. “We need to seal this area before—”

_**GUWAAAAAAAHHHHAAAAAAROOOOOO!** _

There was a loud cry and gazes were altered when catching the tail end of layered skin splitting in reconstruction as a burlap encasement consumed the boy's form, ending with a wet _blurp_. Steam was rising now from the heated shell just hardened, to which Civil – alongside his men – could only gawk in wonder, before there was a rumble.

But it wasn't thunder… and knowing the source was right in front of them, inside the apparent cocoon that was once a lad, kept everyone on their toes.

Especially Civil, who threw a hand towards the SUV with a loud, “Get the Director out of here!” He was yelling over the calamity of rain and gunfire as he tried to get his subordinates to rush his supervisor to safety.

Except Gepfner wouldn't have it.

“No!” He bellowed, removing the cloth from his mouth to over his head as a flash of lightning diffused his features. “I must see what happens with my own eyes, to see if our hard work has paid off— if this _deal_ was worth it! Aunya's life depends on these results!”

Gepfner's mind was set, and Civil's squad had no choice but to wait it out, cautiously circling the mutated envelopment like wolves before flinching at movement inside. The goop was wiggling, clumping like leeches in a jar, and it looked about ready to pop. Time was of the essence, and a soldier promptly ordered another one of his own to light two flares in a swift and hissing X, signaling another looping helo to descend.

This helicopter was different than the first. A huge wire fence dangling from the underside of the craft to which was lowered, disconnected in a loud _clang_ and gathered ground-level by soaked and stained hands. Everyone was working together, dragging and assembling the barrier around the adjacent houses, until the links to the fence were heaved together with a thunderous _click_ , hallmarking the village of Rojogana on lock-down.

It was done fast, in seven minutes flat, but Civil was still concerned, now standing idly beyond the fence. “It failed?”

“Mhm, I hope not.” Gepfner was beside him. “For Aunya's sake _ **…**_ ” He threatened, looking down at his watch like he had an appointment to retain. He was a busy man after all, and made it apparent he was headed for the hummer with a point. “I am returning to lab. I want Fredek to know he has twenty-four hours to pack-up and leave. I will have that female researcher take his place immediately.”

“You're letting him go, sir?”

“For now. That way I will only have one man to keep an eye on tomorrow.” _A keen agent with a big reputation…_ Gepfner worried and glanced down at the empty vial in his hand – the one Civil had returned to him after injecting the child. “I am looking forward to meeting this B.S.A.A. operative my _partner_ speaks so highly of.” And he let the tiny tube slip from his fingers, sinking into the mud at his feet as he slid into the backseat of his ride. “I really hope this _Chris Redfield_ is worth all the trouble…”


	2. Smooth Sailing

**_CHRIS REDFIELD REPORT #1_ **

**_More and more I find myself wondering if it's all worth fighting for, for a future without fear_ ** _**…** _

**_Yeah, it's worth it._ **

**_Or so I thought… And it wasn't until a few months later, after the fall of Tricell, that I knew I was wrong. Fear would always be there, waiting around every corner, and I only hoped this time I'd be prepared_ ** _**…** _

**___________________**

June 25, 2010, 6:15 a.m.

It was around sunrise when thin streaks of rays shone briefly through the bleak, grumbling skies above. The ocean's waves crashing swiftly against the side of the B.S.A.A.'s boat as Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine, mixed among a team of new faces, rode buoyantly towards the Guatemalan shoreline. Its beach slowly dissolving into view and the illusion of pearly white sands were quickly overwritten by rough rocks and sharp shells.

**_“… tea…m. Wha…is your…ur…rent…statu…s… over.”_ **

“Chris here.” Chris took it upon himself to respond first, vigilantly placing a finger to his ear while withstanding a hard rut of sea in his seat. It was anything short of comfortable, but such was the price of fast action and he tilted his head at an angle to try and block the harsh air from further affecting his hearing and the reception. “We're just pullin' up to the coast now.”

Jill was benched beside him. Her focus transmitted over the waving waters extended across the horizon for miles. She looked concerned, though it was too early to tell why. But when only white noise reached out to Chris, soon ending with a voice no longer responding, Jill considered that one of many things to be uneasy about.

 _Huh. Maybe the transmission's range is being stressed because of limited cell towers in the area?_ Was Chris' initial thought, and seeing as there was nothing else he could do from his position, he tolerantly fiddled with the device in his ear; rubbing it like an insect bite to try and clear the signal. “HQ— HQ, do you copy?”

All attention was strained now, until slowly but surely there came a soft, **_“Y…Yes. We…”_** returning with a more distinct broadcast and confirming, ** _“We read you loud… and clear, Chris.”_**

Which was an improvement when compared to before and Chris dropped his shoulders, the sea's spray washing his features neutral as he shifted in his seat, “What can you tell us about the mission?” while motioning to Jill, who chose to lean closer as he pulled out his PDA. Images and documents updating via stream, flashing on screen as he swiped to browse. “What're we lookin' at here?”

**_“A report we received earlier in the week, speculating suspicious activity within that general region of Guatemala, and according to our source, Walker Berets, it may involve the… infamous… Tricell—”_ **

A sudden pop of static had Chris and Jill churning simultaneously, though it wasn't enough to quell Jill's concerned, “Berets? Him again?” while exchanging a worried glance to her partner. Her cap hid most of her anxiety, but not her ponytail. Her natural, brunette hair whipping wildly with the wind, so much that she resorted to holding it back when Chris chipped in with a repeated,

 _“Tricell_?”

It was a name that had him fixed ever since Africa – maybe even a little obsessed, unnerving his mind to no end. But he fought to keep his thoughts straight, changing his posture and the topic with a cleared throat.

“Remember somethin' about that in the briefing online…” Another rut against the waves had Chris chafing at the mist stinging his eyes. It was salty but also refreshing, unlike the situation. “So basically, we're here because of some nonsensical hearsay? After all, the organization was destroyed months ago— we were there.”

Confrontation was a typical tendency of Chris' when dealing with authority, particularly when he thought they were shallow. He knew how to push buttons and he knew how to get away with it. A characteristic he'd developed during his time in the Air Force, which later surfaced in S.T.A.R.S., solely punching another member of his team just to be put on leave so he could do what he wanted – move about freely and travel to Europe to find Wesker and put a stop to Umbrella.

And it was this attitude of his that upset Jill, like back then and right now. Although his wink did get her to loosen up a little.

“Just sayin'.” Chris clarified and hoped HQ understood his dilemma, which they did – or at least let on like they did – by deciding to play nice with a jovial chuckle of,

**_“Senseless as it may seem, it's our job to make sure it remains as such: just rumors.”_ **

And as much as Chris hated being reminded, he knew HQ had a point.

“Copy that.”

It wasn't much of a grumble, but Jill could tell Chris was edgy. After all, the B.S.A.A. couldn't afford another incident like Kijuju, one that ended with countless casualties – so many people taxed as guinea pigs and used in a war they didn't sign up for.

Even Jill was a victim of trial and error, all because of the antibodies she'd developed during the outbreak in Raccoon City. It was an antigen that had saved her life then, but was also responsible for her abduction and experimentation in Africa. So it felt right to strongly disapprove such bioterrorist attacks. “What's our objective?”

**_“Find and eliminate the threat.”_ **

Reception was clearer now but it wouldn't last long, not with the nearing shoreline, and HQ made haste.

**_“As you know, it took us a while to decipher the badly burnt documents and data chips retrieved from the base Ricardo Irving destroyed, but it appears the CEO of Tricell's African Division – Excella Gionne – was a little too flexible with her export-import contacts throughout years rising in rank…”_ **

“Are you sayin' someone got there before us?” Chris was curious, mentally clocking the time it would've taken for such valuable Intel to be collected. A lot longer than fifteen minutes, he thought, which was when the B.S.A.A.'s backup arrived on scene, so what HQ was suggesting seemed a little pressed.

**_“That's what you and your team are there to find out. Your mission is to ascertain how this information was passed through the black market to competitors, any who'd benefit from Gionne's death, not to mention that of Albert Wesker's… So proceed with caution… Over—”_ **

_“I'm just getting started!”_

“…and out.” Chris finished just as communications were cut. But his mind was elsewhere. He'd always wondered what his ex-captain meant by those words, bellowed like they held nothing but truth. Though perhaps it was only from disillusionment and ill intent that they were said. After all, being cornered would've made anyone riled enough to ensue doubt, and maybe that's what Wesker wanted – to vex any victory with suspicion and mystery.

 _Could this be his ghost getting revenge?_ It was a thought, and Chris found himself mulling over how much time had actually passed since the volcano, unconsciously groping the still-tender scar on his chest. A wound well hidden beneath his protective gear, but not psyche. _Has it really been that long?_

And even though Chris couldn't see his reflection clearly in the passing water, he knew it was more than likely consumed by bitter remembrance. His eyes narrowing with his brow, along with the memories…

_“Now, Sheva, shoot him!”_

_“I can't without hitting you!”_

_“Then— “_

Chris could clearly remember his fingers digging through the slimy, wriggling tentacles shielding Wesker's weak point. The vibrant red a clear indication on where to attack, and he recalled how difficult it was to manage even a few pulls. But once he established a firm grasp, he couldn't help but try and mentally shut out his former captain's disputes. Wesker's growls sounding more and more like a distressed animal as he frantically tried to shake all threats.

_“—shoot through me!”_

Chris hadn't meant it at the time. He'd have liked to, but deep down it was just a last minute resort. Wesker had to be stopped there and now, it was the only way – the world depended on it, and self-sacrifice seemed to be the most heroic route to take. Though looking back on it, Chris was thankful that Sheva's fear of losing a partner was equally taxing to that of his own.

Her hesitation became his hesitation and he was still alive because of that – because of Sheva's choice to go with the next best thing to a bullet. Her courage conquered with her grip as she charged, fulfilling an action Chris couldn't.

There were accurate stabs, blind attacks too, as Sheva thrust the dagger deep into Wesker's upper body, taking revenge for her fallen brothers in overambitious strikes. So hard and concentrated that the blade slipped through Wesker's chest and pierced Chris' as well. Though he didn't have time to give into the pain.

_“CHRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!”_

The betrayal on Albert Wesker's face when he screamed and thrashed about in the molten lava hurt Chris more than grief itself. It carried the weight of his suffering, his regrets, his expectations… and Chris almost felt sorry for his ex-captain. Past feelings intensified during the nights that followed – turning every dream into a lost nightmare, one that he had to relive over, and over, and over—

_“Chris?”_

Jill was standing now. The boat already anchored and beached on the shoreline of their destination as she offered her palm in a motion to descend. Her eyes were worried and lips parted, an obvious sign that she was about to ask Chris if he was ok, but he beat her to it with a spur-of-the-moment grin.

“I'm alright.” He tried to reassure, soon taking her hand in an assist to help her overboard.

The water was knee-deep when Chris joined, hopping the vessel's side with ease like it was a hurdle. His combat boots sinking into the squelchy grime as the ocean's spit soaked the legs of his pants. Though it was only a small stain when compared to what was looming in the distance, the clouds above bowed with rain and peals of thunder tumbling over the horizon.

The team would have to get a move on if they wanted to make it to the rendezvous point before the storm touched down. After all, it'd be a long trek inland and Jill and Chris had to be ready for anything. Except not just them. Excluding those two – partners who'd been together since the nineties – there were five other members accompanying them on this mission.

Joel Marone, Shaun D. Orza “Saunders”, Mark Dorsey, Roger Norvel, and Fawn Burano.

Each man with a personality and area of expertise of his own, and to Chris it almost felt like being a part of the old Alpha and Bravo teams again – say for different faces and backgrounds. But Chris wasn't close with these guys like he was with Barry Burton, Forest Speyer, Joseph Frost… Richard Aiken, but he respected them all the same – and only hoped they'd show him that of equal courtesy.

After all, this whole mission depended on good teamwork.

“Alright, let's move.” Chris didn't think they should waste any more time and took it upon himself to get the ball rolling, knowing he was reaching the point in his career to be considered a veteran, and figured he'd get rehearsal in somehow – to set the stage for his future promotion – not that he thought he'd be endorsed anytime soon though…

And when all was said and done, Chris and his men were trudging away from the coastline, all geared up and ready to go, ammo stocked and eyes scanning for danger. But there was one member of the team that was missing…

It was the rookie, Fawn, who had wandered off to explore the surroundings – scope out the area – whatever the manual he'd read at the academy said to do. However, he was still too green, kind of like Rebecca Chambers during her initial day in the field, but at least she was a fast learner.

Which Fawn wasn't, and he didn't know how he was going to react if things went south. No one did. But there was a first time for everything, and the kid was hoping his natural instincts would be unleashed in the heat of battle, making him a top operative in no time.

He looked up to Chris, wanted to _be_ Chris, and realized it took more than guts and a hardhead to accomplish this. It took skill, and Fawn was assessing himself, seeing how far he could get by on his own – this place the perfect zone for some practice.

Or so he thought…

In reality, he was more like a tourist. His young eyes eagerly investigating the fresh land around, the exotic jungle sounding with the whistles of monkeys and that of songbirds, which complemented each other like a symphony. Fawn was in awe, soon stopping to observe the biggest butterfly he'd ever seen. It was just breaking out of its cocoon and he watched eagerly, comparing the struggle to his own for recognition and stayed until the very end – until the butterfly was out of sight.

Fawn almost wanted to follow, but something else caught his attention. It was the array of unusual underbrush scattered about. He'd never seen such vibrant colors before, growing up in a city with nothing but pollution and buildings. There were rocks coated in radiant moss, a bush covered in flowers a deep pink, a creepy human figure standing on a branch above, succulent fruits dangling from a—

Fawn's glance doubled back. “H… Hey…” His mumble was barely managed through an arid choke as he raised his firearm, fingers nervously fine-tuning the trigger with a clearer, “Hey, you!”

But there was no response. The person rocked back and forth, to and fro, like its balance was anywhere but its feet, memorable features obscured by the warped arms of the canopy, and Fawn was intimidated by this.

He readjusted the grip on his poised weapon and quickly worked around assembling his practiced Spanish accent with an, “Habla inglés?” thinking it was his dialect that was to blame for the silence. But it wasn't, and without warning the menacing silhouette extended a limb, which stretched like elastic and grabbed distant woods before slipping from sight in a blur and chilling cackle.

_“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”_

Fawn's shrill cry traveled as far back as the shore, as well as his rabid gunfire, and Chris and Jill were the first to react. Their guns now drawn as they turned, hearing a series of heavy and fumbling antics seeping from the greenery overwhelming the coastline's border.

Chris was on the front line, taking a few steps forward, thinking the approaching target was just a deer and in a sense he was right. Fawn came tumbling out of the bushes with a face drained of color like he'd seen a ghost. He was stumbling aimlessly over his own feet before presenting his back to the group in a spin, gun pointed and about to fire again.

But Chris wouldn't have it, quickly moving to lower the rookie's lifted arm with a stern, “Stand down!”

 _What the hell was this kid thinkin', pulling a stupid stunt like that?_ However, perhaps Chris should've been more concerned with what had Fawn so spooked, but any thought of further investigation was quickly stalled when a drone of thunder rippled through the air overhead. The last beam of light swallowed by ominous veils of black, leaving shadows to tint the terrain, and Chris couldn't quell a persistent nag in the back of his mind that something was off about this mission…

The most important question being _why now?_

 _After all these months of stayin' below radar, why is this Intel surfacing now? What could possibly be out here that's worth compromising the groundwork of formerly burned ideology?_ Chris couldn't wrap his head around it.

But it was times like these that a soldier could never reflect on a mission already set in motion, and Chris' attention was drawn to Jill, who was trying to suppress Fawn's panic.

“What happened?” Her voice was firm, showing authority but still soft, unlike the rookie's, which didn't come quick or clean.

“T…There was s…s…something t…there— in the jungle!” Fawn's eyes were wide, amped on adrenaline and darting everywhere yet nowhere, before sponging at his face with sanded palms, dazzling his freckles with glassy specs of filth amid the drop to his knees. “I…It was human— I mean, it _looked_ human… but then its arms—”

Kid wasn't making any sense and Chris immediately roused the sleeping comm. in his ear, antics a little more animated than he'd have liked, but something was telling him to check-in, which he did with a strong, “HQ, any chance you can use the satellite to survey the area? I got a feelin' we're not the only ones here to confirm the _authenticity_ of this Intel…”

However, a rumble of rapidly heated air answered first before a fuzzy, **_“Sorry, Chris, satellites are down… due to the… ongoing storm. We're… blind out here… I'm afraid you and your team… are…on your… own from this… point o—”_**

The line went dead, communications cut, just as a crack of lightning whitened the overcast skies above, adding an extra eeriness to the unfortunate news – news that they'd have to fend for themselves hereon in, or at any rate until the weather cleared.

But that was the least of their worries as Chris and the others soon realized when catching the tail end of a sickening howl echoing a second crash. They were startled, but not the only ones. The trees around quickly stripped of roosting birds, which took hurried flight, leaving the squad of seven to stand alone in silence near the coast.

 _What the hell?_ Chris could only hope that was just thunder, although his gut told him otherwise…


	3. Beast Of War

_**CHRIS REDFIELD REPORT #2** _

_**With our ties abruptly severed from HQ, our only option left was to continue into unfamiliar territory; sole purpose to locate legitimate evidence relating to Tricell’s association with Guatemala…** _

_**However, that was easier said than done, and it was like searching for a needle in a haystack – the first hour or so spent familiarizing ourselves with the terrain. And I wouldn’t call it luck, but whatever it was, was on our side and my team and I soon discovered tire tracks leading into the rolling hills, which we pursued further and later uncovered a remote village.** _

_**It seemed quiet enough, but little did we know that death was there to greet us…** _

**___________________**

The air was still, the climate drifting into a short calm as Chris and his team approached the rural community. They’d seen it from the jungle’s edge, metal fences standing tall and reflecting the glow of the sun at an angle almost fit for a beacon. It was alluring, fading in and out with the clouds overhead, which made it all the more believable as a sign. So that’s what the group considered it as they advanced – an initiation where to start their search.

Their steps were cautious, masking their raid the best they could among the sand and kindling as they swept the outskirts of the perimeter in tight formation. Chris and Jill were in the lead, side by side, as the other members brought up the rear and it wasn’t until further down the path, right up close to the gates, that they lowered their guard – as well as their weapons.

Without being inside the border it was hard to judge the state of affairs, but for the most part everything appeared abandoned. Shutters barely hanging by their hinges, patches of dirt upturned and clumped, and aside from looking like it should’ve been inhabited, no one came to greet them – or better yet, stop them – which Chris thought was strange since he’d noticed a checkpoint when first descending the hill and was half-expecting to be addressed or detained when within a certain distance of the town. But it was just the opposite.

 _Nothing_ happened.

And the only thing that appeared more detrimental than the missing militiamen were the frenzied footprints and wheels imbedded in the mire beneath his feet. Something had transpired here and Chris was determined to find out what as he bent to inspect a patch of red dirt.

“Seems like there was a struggle.” Though in truth it looked more like a mass execution, and he soon worked the soil between his fingers, massaging the powder into a fine consistency before bringing it to his nose in a sniff… _Blood?_

Sure smelled like it, and Chris studied the earth again, this time noticing a small cylinder half-buried in a clump of mud by the tip of one boot. It was a little weather beaten but still held a new shine, like it hadn’t been there long, and without much hesitation he was reaching for it, retrieving it from the ground in a few brushes then pull.

It was an injection, and Chris immediately turned the vial in his hands to get a better view at its contents. But to his dismay there was nothing to inspect. The barrel was empty, the plunger already down – tip re-capped – and although this was an obvious disappointment, Chris still figured he could rule out the possibility of the needle having been broken. More to the point, he could say for sure that it had been used… But on what?

Chris flipped the booster in hand once more, and shortly found himself rubbing at its sides, feeling a peeling texture, which made him look closer. There was a sticker taped to the face of the tube, a label, pretty faded from the rain but still legible. It read an abbreviated _W/C3BJ-01_ , which Chris instantly took as gibberish, seeing as chemistry was never really his strong point in the past, and rose with a quick grunt and pocket. 

It could be important or it could be nothing. Chris didn’t know at the moment and mentally promised he’d run the title by Jill later, because right now they had bigger problems to worry about. The fences, for one. Up close they were huge, towering like a fortress, approximately seventeen feet high – maybe twenty – and now that Chris was being observant, he just had to ask… 

“Area isn’t exactly a tourist spot, let alone up-to-date with appearances.” He nodded at the links. “So what do you think they’re for?”

Roger was the closest to step up besides Chris, his shotgun bouncing freely in his hands, unlike the weight on his shoulders when he shrugged. “Maybe it was to keep something out?” He said it with a smile, his concern too flexible for his own good, and Fawn didn’t admire him for it.

“Or in?” The rookie added, and half the group turned in skepticism, which had Fawn regretting his outburst. His pressed lips his first cue of wanting to be left alone or ignored.

But deride aside, although no one was impressed, they didn’t have to be. Both soldiers had the benefit of being right, their opinions that of their own. Either way, Chris just hoped it was something they could all handle when the time came for truth – which was bound to happen sooner or later… 

“Chris.” Jill motioned with a point, referencing something beyond the inclusion, far out in the middle, and when everyone joined her by the fence their sight was directed towards five – no – six bodies crumpled within the center area. “It looks like we’re not the first ones here…” 

She sounded nervous, which now made two of them, and when she shielded her eyes Chris was hooding his own. Though it wasn’t the sun that was casting a glare, it was the distance and Chris shortly tried at the mesh with a few rattles and hefty tug, checking for any signs of weakness.

But his strength alone was no match for the material, and when nothing else seemed to do the trick he was looking up, eyes tracing the wired top with a squint. Except it was too high to climb or even assist a partner with a jump – the laced barbs appearing like they’d pose more of a dilemma than solution – so Chris decided any further thoughts on the matter were completely out of the question. “We’re gonna have to find another way around.” 

And they did. With everyone fanning out it didn’t take long before the team spotted a breech in the fence, a hole further along the enclosure that could give them access to the inner area, which had Chris wanting to rejoice with a praising, _Nice!_ Though once closer, something seemed off about the way the links were broken. The cuts weren’t clean, they were jagged – nothing close to what a pair of wire cutters could do either…

No. If Chris had to guess, something tried to _chew_ its way out, and judging from the size of the hole he’d say it was pretty big, which did anything but put his mind at ease when the others began pushing through, one by one, in single file. But Chris didn’t think he was in the position to complain. At least he got what he wanted – a way in – and once all members were inside they made it their top priority to examine the strewn-about bodies near the core of the conclusion.

Five were men. Four killed instantly, judging from their wounds, and the last one bled out from facial mutilation. But then there was the boy, who looked as though he’d been mauled from the inside out. A thick and sticky substance melted around his remains, which held a weird, grimy consistency when Chris touched it and he was quick to wipe it off on his pants before rising.

“Who could've done this?” Jill asked as she rose as well.

But Chris didn’t have an answer and could only shake his head. “I don’t know, but they might still be here—” 

The _snapping_ of a twig had everyone on high alert and they all turned, catching the last of a dust trail vanish down a nearby alley, to which a few guns were fired on instinct. Multiple bullets zigzagged the earth in a follow and rhythmic trill, except it was futile. Whatever had been there before was gone now, and alarm promptly replaced support.

“What was it? Did you see it?” Fawn used his firearm as a pointer, all the while inching forward with a few glances to Mark, who was following his lead.

“No.” He said. “Moved too fast.” Which wasn’t an understatement, and when the duo made an attempt to advance again, Chris was there to stop them both from tramping in blind.

“Hey!” His voice was angry, but he didn’t have to use it at full force. His hand was enough to get their attention with its reach out and firm push to their guns. “Look before you shoot. We don’t want to injure civilians.”

“Civilians?” It was Roger’s turn to push at Chris, verbally though. “What civilians?” He motioned to the vacant houses. “Take a look around, bud! There’s no one here!”

Chris knew that, but they still had to be sure and he made an effort to tell them so. But chaos was unfolding, the air so thick with fear and hesitation that it was soon a fight among morale. A contest of who was right or wrong amidst a team that needed to stick together, but no one was listening. All voices were in full bloom and stayed that way until Jill threw in her own two cents – which came at a low hush, but somehow seemed more effective than yelling.

“Quiet!” She had a finger pressed to her lips. “You hear that?”

The answer was no, they didn’t. But when murmurs fell short, all ears straining, it wasn’t long before they did. It sounded like a groan, a deep creak, and although it was soft at first, time gave it strength. Within the next few seconds it was all around, drifting separately from the background ambience and skies above.

Nothing was certain anymore. Not what the team was up against or where the noise was coming from, and Chris was soon backed with the others into a corner of suspense. They were vulnerable out in the open, about as defenseless as cooped chickens in the presence of a predator, shoulders knocking tightly in a huddle. But the formation wasn’t what they’d call flighty. No side was left unmanned, which gave Joel the chance to alert the rest of the team in the nick of time.

_“Behind us!”_

Though no one really heard his cry over the trembling houses. They were too busy trying to back away from the rear alley as a bulky creature struggled to squeeze itself from the parallel walls. The sight was jaw-dropping and had everyone in awe up until the final moments the beast collapsed forward with a sickening _pop_. It was a questionable noise, but not like the one that followed.

There was a bubbling churn, similar to the sound of pouring liquid before the creature's shoulders shifted in a return to their sockets with an audible _crunch_. The B.S.A.A. winced at the sight and without delay all weapons were going up alongside their expressions, most plastered with many shades of disgust. But not like Chris’. If he didn’t know any better, the monstrosity before him looked like it had regenerative properties… Actually, scratch that – it _did_ have regenerative properties, which now made it—

“A new type of B.O.W.!” Jill yelled just as the creature towered overhead.

The title flexed in the wind like the mass before them. Its bristly jaw muscles stretching menacingly below tiny eyes as drool slipped from its fangs, dagger-sharp and spider-like, and once some strands of slaver hit the ground, holes soon took their place with a piercing hiss.

“Acid!” Chris staggered away as he raised his weapon in two motions, but he didn’t shoot. He was afraid to – the beast looking similar to the eyesore he and Sheva had encountered on the revolving elevator in the facility in Africa six months ago. _So Tricell IS involved?_

Chris didn’t want to believe it, but the butterflies in his gut were running wild – just like the B.O.W. now. It was prancing around on its spindly legs, upturning mud and pottery as if it was some kind of game, maybe even testing its newfound legroom, which made the situation even more dangerous – more unpredictable – and Chris curved his lips in a scowl. 

“Careful!” He shouted. “Don’t let it get too close!”

But that was easier said than done and Mark positioned his machine gun for battle. “Fucker’s not exactly small!”

He was right, it wasn’t. But the beast was still agile and quickly latched onto the closest house with a howl to the heavens just as a flash of lightning brightened the sky above, almost like a signal, and the B.S.A.A. were quick on the uptake. Rounds were fired from all members, showering like the rain yet to fall, and the B.O.W. shook its head fiercely, shielding its face with a forearm.

It almost looked pathetic, but that innocence was forgotten the minute it lunged, shaking the ground with its land, knocking Chris and his squad off their feet. And before they could reclaim their footing, the B.O.W. was much closer, and now looming over— 

“…Fawn!” Chris struggled to push himself up. The fall had knocked not only his balance, but more wind from his lungs than he’d of liked and he could only make it to his knees before succumbing to a wheeze. He wouldn’t be fast enough to reach the rookie in time, he knew this, and knowing hurt. 

Just as much as it pained him to see Mark try to accomplish what he couldn’t. And now with two players on the field in need of rescuing, Chris was torn – torn between watching the other man rush by blindly, and torn between watching the B.O.W. lean back in a notion of attack. Its throat rippling like a wave before puking a big ball of saliva, which hit Mark square in the chest when he jumped forward to shield Fawn.

Chris could hear the acid taking effect, its echo like that of an angry beehive and the sight made his blood run cold. Within seconds he was up, not in a sturdy stand, but he didn’t care. His legs were moving on their own, staying clear of the B.O.W. with a sudden duck as it tried to spit again. Except no matter how quick Chris was now, he couldn’t beat the speed of the chemicals. 

It was a fast burn. The spread more noticeable when by Mark’s side, his vest rapidly dissolving, and pretty soon the fabric was breached. Chris was too late, and Mark knew that death was coming, which was why he warned everyone to _stay away_ through grit teeth.

But Chris didn’t want to leave it like this. He couldn’t, not with remorse overriding his judgment, and when he made another attempt to try and help his withering comrade in any way he thought possible, Jill was there to stop him. She knew it was hard for Chris to accept, but Mark was doing what he could – doing what he _had to_ for the team – and with a firm grip to her partner’s shoulder, she was pulling both him and Fawn away from where Mark had fallen. 

It was a heartbreaking goodbye and no one said a word, not until they were holed up in what little cover they could find an alley over, which was nothing short of a bungalow of four stalls and a roof. But no one could complain. Mark’s cries were still fresh within their minds and it was like that how they’d remember him. Not as a distraction for the B.O.W. so they could escape, or as a brave man who sacrificed himself to save another – but as a screaming mess.

“Dammit!” Chris hung his head and growled as his fist landed the wall in a harrowing crack. It wasn’t a satisfying pound, but it was the best he could do to keep his composure in front of the team. Someone needed to stay calm and Chris took it upon himself to shoulder that cause, and imagining the punch he threw as the B.O.W.’s face helped a little more than he had thought. He’d make that beast pay and it’d pay hard, he would see to that personally, and it was his deeper snarl that had Jill worried. 

She hated to see Chris like this. Guilt was to blame and she knew how to spot it. It was in his arms, all stringent and uneven. They showed the responsibility he carried, the regret of his actions and sometimes she knew Chris wished he could take the place of so many people – treat it like a tradeoff, like he _deserved_ it, a punishment for his past, for his _survival_. It was a behavior she’d noticed after Kijuju, how he took death harder, how he acted like he had nothing left to live for anymore… 

 _Was it because of Wesker?_ She didn’t know and would never ask. It wasn’t her business and when Chris gathered the courage to turn around and look at her, she could only offer him a sad smile. That’s right, she wouldn’t bring it up. Not now or ever. “Mark he… It’s not your fault.”

Chris knew Jill was right, that she wasn’t just blowing smoke to make him feel better, but he was still trying to swallow it himself – and so was Fawn. The kid was taking Mark’s death the hardest. After all, he was the one who was protected from danger, the one who just had a man die in his stead, and it was in that moment that Chris saw a reflection of himself. He understood what Fawn was going through… 

All the treachery and loss Chris had experienced over the years, he knew what it was like to lose someone he looked up to – a man who was charismatic, headstrong, witty. _Kind of like_ … Chris shook his head. No. He needed to focus on the mission right now, not a shadow of the past, and he cleared his throat just as Jill did. 

“Someone obviously knew that B.O.W. was here.” She began, wasting no time with the topic, and soon had everyone’s attention, including Chris who gave her a look. The look where he knew she had a plan and he wanted to hear it, but Jill didn’t know if he was going to like this one. “I think our safest bet is to get back through that hole and retreat for now.” She wasn’t saying that they should run away, just weigh their options carefully and her fingers tightened around her handgun before she displayed it for all to see. “Our bullets didn’t seem to have any effect…”

Chris had noticed that too and he stepped up beside her with a nod. “OK.” He agreed. “We’ll make our way to the boat and contact HQ from there.” He tapped the comm. in his ear. “Can’t get a clear signal this far inland.”

It was their best shot – regroup, then call for back-up – and that’s what they were going to do.

But the B.O.W. seemed to have other plans. Its beady eyes were there, outside the window, peering in at the team, staring into the small house. It was only the head, but that was enough to get a reaction from the B.S.A.A., and when they jumped back, so did the creature. But it didn’t stay away long. Its silhouette returned to fill and block any light like it was a solar eclipse against the sun and within seconds everything was dark – including the mood.

Without warning the B.O.W. struck, one of its claws snaking in through the bungalow doorway with ease to grab another victim. Saunders was the closest and all heads snapped in a follow as he was dragged out into the open by his arm. His screams disappeared with his body and the remaining five could only watch in horror as he was flung into the air like a rag doll, returning seconds later with a bone-cracking thud. Everyone cringed in unison. But that’s all they were allowed to do, because the B.O.W. was quick to come back for a second attack – this time from above.

The roof let out a deep groan from the beast’s weight as the building began to concave, sending a sheet of dust and leaves down to the floor in a flutter, and Chris swat briefly at the air before covering his mouth with a cough. “It’s trying to bring the house down!”

His words held alarm, but not like the pales faces of his teammates, and it was no surprise when Roger was the first out the door. And with no one there to stop him, he was as good as gone. Then it was Joel – followed by Fawn. They were racing for the fence and pretty soon that’s where Chris and Jill were headed too, hot on each other’s heels until safely back through the hole and beyond the barrier.

Half the team didn’t stop running, but those near Chris did, and when they turned back a piercing wail told them the B.O.W. was aware they weren’t inside the house anymore. With one giant leap it was grounded and running. At first in circles, but when it realized where the action was – seeing multiple bodies through its wonky vision aligning the other side of the fence – it reared and went straight for the busted links, charging and swatting away crates and barrels in a tantrum.

 _Shit. At this rate_ — Chris hopped into another sprint with a hurried wave to those who stayed. “Go, go, go, GO!” His commands were jumbled when the fences came down, alongside the stored rain, and soon the district was a slopping mess, making it easy to slip and slide, but most of all – forget the trail. Especially when the squall from the beachside was now overhead, washing the surroundings white with each crash of lighting and rumble of thunder.

The team had split ways without even knowing it, most footprints of the other members lost and overwritten among the herald of chaos in the puddled slush. Though Chris could still see Jill and managed to signal to her briefly in a _come on_ before being forced to duck in a stumble as a timber cart flew overhead to smash against the road in front, redirecting him down a different path. 

“Head for the trees!” Chris yelled. 

And after that, it was nothing but a blur…


	4. Three's A Crowd

_**CHRIS REDFIELD REPORT #3** _

_**It’s just Jill, Fawn and myself now. Somehow we managed to lose the B.O.W., but got separated from Joel and Roger. We don’t know where they are…** _

_**I can only hope they’re safe.** _

_**But that type of mutation— could it have somethin’ to do with a parasitic infection, like the Ganados detailed in the Kennedy Report? Or Uroboros? Right now it’s hard to tell. But regardless, somethin’s definitely goin’ on here, and I’m determined to find out what…** _

**___________________**

Bushes, boulders, or logs – nothing could slow Chris down.

With the B.O.W. nowhere to be seen, ditched shortly after entering the jungle’s edge, the air was much lighter despite the storm, but that didn’t mean the trio was out of the woods yet. It was more like they were deeper than before, surrounded by towering trees and thick brush, and Chris didn’t want to stop running – more like he _couldn’t_.

He was in the moment. The terrain giving him the perfect momentum and velocity he needed to keep going without breaking a sweat with the sharp declines and raised branches. Chris was making his own path, his arms in sync with his legs as he ran towards the imaginary shoreline beyond the trees. But once they thinned he soon found himself stumbling not onto the beach, but into a clearing overlooked by a building.

“Look!” Jill saw it too. “A facility!” She exclaimed, not too far behind.

It was massive, assembled in front of them like a forgotten castle with its empty courtyard and untrimmed weeds. Not to mention vines suspended and creeping up the outer walls, trying to merge with the cement and conceal the structure deeper, which gave the whole scene a haunting quality. And the rising mist did anything but add to the eeriness, rolling in like a ghost ship – all thanks to the rain and wind, which emitted an ethereal presence over the landscape.

In Chris’ eyes, the facility looked like it’d seen its fair share of weather and neglect, but it also looked like the perfect test bed for bioterrorists and their experiments, and with his mind clouded like the climate, Chris barely even saw the short fence surrounding the area. But his current speed gave him just enough momentum to make the leap safely.

With little to no help from his arms, he was over. The squelchy earth staining the rims of his pants with his land and quick turn as he tried to locate his partners. They were still a ways behind, but Chris wasn’t really surprised at the distance – he was always fast on his feet – though he _was_ surprised when he heard something behind him, something electronic, like a _beep_ , which had him glancing back over his shoulder.

It sounded like a lock, opening or closing, Chris didn’t know until noticing the light above the building’s double doors. He vaguely remembered it being red when passing a glimpse earlier, but somehow it was green now. Chris squinted curiously at the change and cautiously took a couple steps towards the entrance, silently questioning how there could still be power with such a dilapidated appearance.

 _Unless the generator’s on? But for what purpose would that serve— and all the way out here?_ It didn’t seem right, and Chris turned his back to check up on the others, to get their take on the situation. However, just as he did the doors slowly creaked wide, low gurgles and groans echoing from inside the dark archway – but Chris didn’t hear them…

Not until Jill screamed, “Watch out!” just as the access flew open with physical force.

Chris didn’t have time to think about his next move, but managed to skillfully evade wild arms with a spin, aiming his weapon in the process as the attacker stumbled to a halt.

The figure was male, a villager, Chris judged by the clothes, and at first glance he looked relatively normal, until he turned around. The man’s body was hunched, covered in multiple shades of flesh with spots peeling like a bad sunburn. The same went for his lips, all cracked and spewing with liquid before he went to lunge again, eyes dazed.

But Chris’ trigger finger was faster. All it took was three bullets – leg, chest, then skull.

However, another inhabitant immediately took the other villager’s place. And with Chris’ gun empty, he wasn’t taking any chances with a reload. Instead, as second nature, he went for his knife – until he heard Jill’s call from behind.

_“Move!”_

On command, Chris quickly dove to the side, ending in a roll just as Jill jumped over the fence. She was fast with her spin, her leg connecting the second dweller’s head and it broke off by the time she steadied her footing, gun now drawn.

“These must be some of the inhabitants from the village.” Jill positioned herself by Chris’ side as he rose to his feet.

“Yeah, but what the hell happened to them?” He grunted, pulling at his gear to finally retrieve a full clip of ammo from his pack, pushing it into the chamber with a grinding _click_ just as Fawn stumbled over the rails. The kid was a little late to the welcoming party, but Jill greeted him all the same – especially now that he had brought company.

More infected villagers piled out of the bushes around, from back on the trail and inside the building, their wails mixing with the rain, and Chris cringed at the sight, quickly taking care of the nearest resident with a single bullet – popping the head like a bottle of champagne at a celebration. But there was nothing to celebrate…

“There’re too many of them!” Chris yelled as he dodged another group of attackers, giving the most threatening one a good kick to the side before motioning to the tapering crowd by the facility’s entrance. “Let’s get inside!”

And they did. Haste was made like a flood was coming and Chris, being the last one through the doors, had the pleasure of barricading them off. He slammed the double slates shut and grabbed the nearest plank to use as a wedge between the handles. It was a last minute rig, but it held even when angry hands began begging on the opposite side to be let in.

For the meantime they were out of harm’s way, and seeing this Chris stiffly released his grip from the frame like it was a burden he was grateful to get off his chest. “Everyone alright?” He asked tiredly with a small look over his shoulder.

“Yeah.” Jill nodded and passed the look to Fawn. But the rookie’s eyes didn’t lift from the ground where he stood. He stared at the gravel with an expression intended for those with no hope. They were anxious, maybe not for himself, but his teammates – the ones that weren’t with them – and Chris tried to offer some support.

“Look.” He reached out a hand, not sure if words would make things any better – any easier to accept – but thought the gesture would be nice all the same. “I know you’re scared, but we have to keep it together if we wanna make it outta here in one piece.”

“But Joel and Roger—”

“I’m sure they’re fine.” Jill chipped in with the warmest tone she could muster despite the flickering uncertainty behind her eyes. “They knew the plan and might’ve already made it back to the boat by now.”

“Exactly.” Chris agreed, trying to get Fawn to focus on him instead of doubt. “The only thing we can do on our end is keep goin’.” He nodded once. “OK?”

Trust flickered back into the rookie’s eyes and he was quick to return the acknowledgement with a few nods of his own, soon rubbing at the dirt smudges on his face like they were an embarrassment, making him look more like a clumsy kid instead of a soldier. But that’s exactly what he was, and the longer Chris observed him, the more he saw a frightened child – too inexperienced for the war they were fighting…

“Chris.” Jill called to him from across the room, and he gave her his attention after a dismissive pat to Fawn’s shoulder.

“What is it?” He asked attentively, shortly walking her way.

“I found a map.” She motioned to a metal slate pinned to one of the walls. “Looks like there’s a Communication’s Deck on the fifth floor.” She ran a finger over the rusted surface, ending at the place she referred while giving a couple taps. “You think we can use the equipment there to amplify our comm. signal?”

“Maybe.” Chris tottered like he was partial to the idea. With the state of facility looking like it did, he was skeptical about anything being still operational. But then he remembered the unlocking of the double doors, and he shook his head as if to be more optimistic. “Either way, it’s worth a shot.”

And they took it. But after four more halls to the left and six doors down Chris hated to admit it, but it didn’t look like they were making any progress.

“Feels like we’re goin’ in circles…”

“It seems this area’s been renovated.” Jill defended as she shuffled through the images she took earlier on her PDA. “Which would explain why our current position isn’t corresponding with the map.”

“Great.” Chris clicked his tongue in frustration. That’s all they needed, to be walking around blind and he took a step forward, palm outstretched and motioning for the device. “Lemme see that—” But a loud groan from the floor boards beneath his feet had him rethinking the rest of his request and his arms went out instead, churning slightly like he was standing on a tightrope.

“Chris!” Even Jill swayed, the wooden beams cracking in her direction as well. “Careful. Some of the panels must still be rotten.”

“Yeah…” Chris grunted as he managed to place one foot in front of the other. “I noticed.” His tone was mordant, masking any alarm with wit and Jill attempted to lean out and over the warped flooring.

“Here.” She offered. “Give me your hand.”

“No.” Chris rejected with a wave of two fingers, “Jill, stay where you are.” He didn’t want to endanger her anymore than necessary, not when the whole situation took him back to the fall during their search of the Spencer Estate and how they ended up separated and weaponless against the bodyguards of the mansion.

It wasn’t a pleasant memory then and Chris wasn’t looking to restart history. Though it didn’t help either when he heard the sound of running water and he almost laughed to himself when he was nearly forced to balance on one foot again from reflex and another _crack_. “…Maybe I should consider the circus as my next career?” He teased, receiving a weary smile from Jill who shook her head.

“Not funny.” She warned, inwardly wishing Chris would apply his sarcasm elsewhere, but still joined him in a small muse nonetheless. But that was before Fawn called to them from a ways back, craning both their necks on instinct.

 _“Find anything on your end?”_ The rookie was approaching in an easy stroll, not reading the situation at all, and Chris and Jill felt a cold sweat race to the base of their spines. All it would take was one more step and without thinking they both moved to stop the younger member of their team from getting any closer.

“Fawn, wait—” “No, don’t—”

Except it was too late. The floor gave way in a final dip, sending Jill and Chris into the steep area below. Their screams fading with the crumbling debris, the cement clusters, the flaking wood, a very loud _splash,_ and Fawn’s topside and barely audible, _“Oh, shit! Are you two OK!”_

Coughs and gags were his answer to start and the rookie paced like a toy soldier as he glanced into the dark abyss in front of him. There wasn’t much to go on, but he could see the bodies of his fallen comrades through the slivers of light peeking through the cracks beneath. The underground passage looked flooded, but that’s because it was – and Chris wasn’t surprised.

 _Must've been swamped for a while…_ He judged from the smell, and grudgingly pushed himself to his knees in a grunt. He really hated falling. Not only did it drudge up old memories of all the highs and lows he’d survived, but his knees weren’t in the best of shape – not since the drop off the balcony at the Antarctic Base after Rockfort. He wasn’t as spry as he used to be and the pain was his reminder, but knowing Jill wasn’t either made him feel a little less like an old hand.

“W…We’re fine!” Jill finally called out with a groan, speaking for both her and her partner, as she joined him in a stand. Once up, she fished for her flashlight from her back pouch and powered it on after brushing her damp ponytail aside. There were a few snakes slithering among the crates and boxes by and around her feet, but they didn’t look poisonous so she ignored them as she made her focus skyward. “Fawn, the walls are too steep to climb.” She said with a hint of worry, shielding her eyes. “Looks like you'll have to go to the Communication’s Deck by yourself.”

There was a hesitant pause before a meek. _“O…OK… But what should I tell HQ? Do you want me to ask for an extraction?”_

“No.” It was Chris’s turn to call out. “We can’t leave just yet. Not when we don’t have any answers.” He reached to his belt, bringing out his own light. “Call for back-up.” He clicked it on swiftly, illuminating one of the adjourning rooms despite the hovering dust and muggy air _._ “Jill and I will try to find another way up. We’ll rendezvous on the roof.”

It was a heavy responsibility to saddle on Fawn’s shoulders, but Chris and Jill made sure the rookie was comfortable with his orders before he disappeared. And it was only when his tepid footsteps finally faded from audibility that they made their move – which, at first, was just like old times. Lots of metal doors and long corridors, until a white blur drew Chris’ attention rounding a corner.

“Hey!” He wasn’t quite sure what he saw, but was quick on the uptake with a jog, disappearing around the bend all the same as Jill pursued as well.

She followed on trust, still a little hazy on what her partner was actually chasing, but made sure to watch his back. And she didn’t regret it. Sure enough, halfway down the hall was a man, dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail. He looked suspicious – also looked to be in a hurry.

“Freeze!” Chris growled, withdrawing his handgun and poising it soon after with the intent to fire.

Without a second’s delay, there was a harsh and surprised scuff from the man’s shoes against the hallway’s marble titles as he immediately obeyed. His jacket barely fluttering to rest on the backs of his knees before he turned, his hands already up by the time he faced them, like he knew the drill and he smiled smugly.

“Can I… help you?” The man’s voice was deep; a small goatee the first memorable feature, then his creamy suit and cobalt tie beneath his lab coat. But Chris was caught on the accent…

 _Russian?_ “Who are you?”

“Fredek.” The man was quick with his introduction, adjusting his glasses in a wary blink. “Fredek Aristov.” He clarified. “I work for pharmaceutical company. I am… humble scientist.” He tugged at his collar, but more directly at the nameplate pinned to the fabric, confirming the name he gave and smirked to himself when all eyes were caught gawking for affirmation.

Chris had never met a scientist who insisted he was anything close to _humble_ before, it was all god complexes and talk of future annihilation, so that right there had them off on the wrong foot. Especially when there seemed to be a pattern involving terms of employment…

“ _Pharmaceutical company?_ ” Chris tried to not let his lip curve in disgust when he tilted his chin. “Tricell?” He assumed, tightening his grip on the trigger.

“Alkagen.” The title slipped off Aristov’s tongue like it was his own corporation and Jill exchanged a silent glance to her partner.

It wasn’t a name they’d ever heard before. Not during the B.S.A.A. or over the years, but something new and they couldn’t pit the rising concern in their expressions. If Tricell’s Uroboros wasn’t responsible for the B.O.W. in the village, then was the blame to fall on this company – Alkagen? Was it a new product or an altered strain from the materials recovered from the base Irving destroyed?

They could only speculate and Jill decided to start with the most generic question. “What are you doing here?” To which the man calling himself Aristov raised a brow.

“I should be asking you same thing.” He evaded, like they were the ones harboring suspicion, all the while glancing the embroidered patch on Chris’ closest arm with a squint. “What could the… _B.S.A.A._ possibly be doing in Guatemala?”

“We’re askin’ the questions here.” Chris snapped and Aristov glared.

“ _My company_ …” He cleared his throat. “The… company I work for owns this facility. So on behalf of my _boss_ , I came to perform inspection.”

“And does this _boss_ have a name?” Jill asked, trying not to sound as demanding as her partner, but even if she didn’t show it, her feelings of impatience were the same. Because whether or not it was obvious to the scientist, she could tell he was leaving out some details on purpose…

“Of course.” Aristov admitted. “Do you?”

“Jill Valentine.” She said honestly and Chris questioned her compliance with a sideways glance before distastefully following her lead.

“Chris…” He grumbled and lowered his gun, seeing as they were now playing the _I’ll scratch your back, if you scratch mine_ card. “Chris Redfield.”

“ _Chris?_ ” Aristov repeated and gave him an uncomfortable stare before smiling, showing a golden tooth nestled among pearly whites. “Nice to meet you.” He hummed as he made to leave with a small wave. “But, if you'll excuse me. I have schedule to uphold.”

“Hey! Hold on a sec!” It was an instinctive request coming from Chris, but to his surprise, Aristov complied like he knew it’s what they wanted, allowing Jill to block his path with a step past.

“Why don’t you come with us?” She offered. Her face was strong, protective, and Aristov seemed a bit taken aback by her hospitality. Though he equally looked amused, particularly when Jill nodded at the man’s belt then to hers. “You don’t appear to be armed, and there could be other monsters lurking around.”

She turned to Chris for encouragement and he shrugged offishly. He’d rather not barter with such bad company, but guessed this way they could keep an eye on the guy – maybe even squeeze him for additional information. After all, this _Fredek Aristov_ definitely knew more than he was letting on, and Chris couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about the whole situation. Everything seemed too…

 _No. Maybe I’m over thinkin’ it._ He shook his head and attempted to make eye contact with Aristov, but the scientist was preoccupied elsewhere, and when Chris went to follow the gaze, he was interrupted.

“I would rather not join you on your little expedition, but…” Aristov cleared his throat, his tone betraying his features of liability as he straightened out a sleeve. “It seems you leave me no other choice.”

Except there were choices. He could’ve refused their offer, put up more of a fight to be left alone or resisted like he wasn’t interested. But no. He gave in willingly and that’s what had Chris focused – so focused that he overlooked a shadow slinking in the hallway behind them, missing the tail end of a black coat slipping into the darkness alongside a hollowing chuckle…


	5. Between The Lines

_**CHRIS REDFIELD REPORT #4** _

_**Alkagen Pharmaceuticals…** _

_**Never heard of it, so where did Tricell come in? And where the hell was the rest of the personnel? Did everyone evacuate the facility? Did they know we were coming? Has the B.S.A.A.’s mission been compromised? Does Alkagen even exist?** _

_**With all this talk and no proof, I’m beginning to think this mission’s one, big loophole— a prop for someone’s stage, and that the person behind the curtain’s stringing us along like puppets, laughing at our every wrong move…** _

**___________________**

And their moves were just that.

 _Wrong_ , as Chris found out when rattling the next doorknob. Judging by how many doors there were down the stretch of hall before them, he was hoping at least _one_ would be open. But to his defeat, all that he’d tried so far were tightly sealed – not even a bunt with his shoulder enough to break them, and by now it was beginning to hurt.

So Chris decided to stop himself before it got any worse. After all, he couldn’t afford wreck his body, not after he worked so hard to build it up over the years. Though in truth, with Wesker gone he didn’t need to keep his muscles so pumped. But it was more like habit these days, especially when knowing of the dangers lurking around every corner, which also went for the one behind him…

Fredek Aristov.

Chris didn’t know what it was, but he had mixed emotions about the man. Starting with the way he held himself with his strides, like he knew where he was going, like he knew what was behind each and every door before they did – like he was leading them into a _trap_. And having that, the thought of betrayal and manipulation, swirling through Chris’ mind did anything but alleviate the suspicion on Aristov when the man all but walked up behind him when trying another knob.

_“That space contains nothing of importance.”_

It seemed to be his catchphrase. Announced every time Chris would stop to check each access, and honestly, it was getting on his nerves…

“I’ll be the one to decide that.” Chris grumbled, giving the handle a half-assed tug, expecting the same result as the last six – and unfortunately he was right.

It was locked and his eyes dropped with his hand. By now he was regretting his agreement to split up with Jill, who took to exploring the second hall a few doors back while he stayed with the main corridor. And Chris turned slightly, just a shoulder, to give his tail an aimless glare – which had Aristov’s golden tooth slipping through his grin as he fixed one of his coat sleeves like it was a habit.

“What is wrong, _Chris_? Do you not trust me?” It was almost asked like Aristov already knew the answer, just wanting to hear it for kick’ sake, and just as Chris opened his mouth to reply he was interrupted by Jill who was rejoining them in the hall.

“I found an archive room a little ways back.” She said dutifully – and ignorantly – when noting the atmosphere with her partner. Chris seemed tetchy, neck stiff and slightly narrowed, and the mood only deepened when she pointed in the direction she’d just returned from. “But it has an electronic lock, and I can’t get in.”

 _Get in_ , meaning she couldn’t pick the padlock, and Chris almost wanted to sigh, to say _maybe it might be around here somewhere_ , and have Jill babysit Aristov this time while he looked further on ahead. That was until the scientist ran a hand over the front of his lab coat formally.

“I have the key card.” Aristov perked, practically volunteered, prior to slowly trailing his fingers to his pant pockets, which soon had his brow knotting in concentration as he lowered his head, looking mechanically inside his lapel before shrugging. “Mhm. It seems I left it back at lab…”

The disappointment was genuine in his voice and Jill was quick to step up beside him. “Once we get this card of yours, can you take us to the Communications Deck?” She asked. “We need to make a call.”

“Of course.” Aristov agreed, without hesitation.

But Chris was hesitant. Mostly because he never expected a scientist to be so tolerant, and he gave Jill a _what are you doin’_ kind of look, seeing as he didn’t expect her to reveal their intentions to the likes of their detainee or _escort_ – no matter how sundry her words were. But it seemed she had the situation under control…

Unlike Fawn, who was alone on his mission to find the Comms Deck. Now sheepishly advancing along a dim hall on the second story, the light from his flashlight bouncing off the bare, old walls, as he muttered to himself.

“Third floor… Third floor…” He whispered, using it like a mantra to stay focused as his attention darted left, then right. Until out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of someone maneuvering through the darkness towards him, swift footsteps fading into audibility. They tapped, mimicking the beat of Fawn’s heart as he readied his gun in a turn. “Hey, you—!”

There was a glimmer off a pair of lenses, _sunglasses_ , just as the light illuminated the hallway. But once Fawn was fully facing the corridor, it stretched unoccupied, nothing but dust and a silence that stung his ears with an eerie ring.

“What the…?” Fawn took a copious amount of steps, primed and in motion, before making his way to the exact spot he thought he saw the figure.

But did he actually see someone? Or was his fear getting the better of him?

☢

“Here we are.” Aristov stopped next to a door enamored by a plaque reading, in big letters, _LAB_ , and wasted no time in pushing it open after a soft _click_. But when it only sided slightly, he soon put his shoulder against it with a deeper shove. “Hm? Must be stuck on something.” He tried again, but when the results were the same, he was quick to give up. “No matter. We could always try back entrance—”

Except Chris’d had it about to here with Aristov’s stalling and pulled him aside impatiently. “We don’t have time for this.” He growled, and with one, strong kick they were inside – he and Jill with their firearms drawn in a wave, catching and stirring any strewn papers within distance of the door.

The loose-leafs merged amid other documents around and beneath a large metallic table situated in the middle of the room. It was a mess, the only relatively clean areas the marble counter tops below a row of broad and musty windows against the back wall – reflecting the jungle brush and outside conditions – and Chris only managed a couple steps forward before being forced to a halt.

A hand laid stiffly before him, still connected to its owner, who was hunched against the frame, bullet hole tattooed in the middle of his forehead.

 _Must’ve been what was blockin’ the door…_ Chris deduced and holstered his gun, Jill hers, as she inspected the corpse.

“Blood’s still wet. Hasn’t been dead long.”

“Oh, my.” Aristov spun away like he was going to be sick. A hand to his mouth, his eyes wide and concerned, either for his health or something else. Something no one else could see. “He was… not there when I left.”

“Any idea who he is?” Chris tracked the scientist with his eyes, who – after walking a few paces from the body – slowly looked back, letting his gaze fall to the floor thereafter.

“I…” His tone was different, solemn, maybe even disappointed. “I cannot be sure from this angle.”

“Then come closer—”

“Chris. Look at these.” Jill called, shuffling through different colored journals on the center table.”Seems there’s a development being conducted here called _Project-C_.” She eyed her partner, who was by her side in no time. “Think it’s what’s responsible for what happened in Rojogana this morning?”

“Maybe.” Chris leaned, flipping through some pages already splayed. “Guess we won’t know for sure though until we read them.”

“Do you want to take the journals or loose paper?”

 _Neither…_ Chris tsked to himself as he idly swapped his weight between both feet in a mulish sway. He didn’t really want to be bothered with examining records, being a man of more action than text, but at the same time his curiosity was getting the better of him. “…Journals.” He finally said, and Jill nodded.

She knelt to one knee, busying herself among the atrocity of notes, beginning with those most visible as Chris stayed focused on what was in front of him, opening the closest notebook. But a groan soon escaped his lips. Whoever wrote them seemed to document every moment of his or her life. However, maybe that was a good thing, Chris impressed, and could only hope there’d be something in the books about the B.O.W. they encountered earlier – or the infected villagers.

But where to begin?

Chris turned through a few pages, formerly holding it aside to crack a peek at another composition, curtly noticing they were all in chronological order, which was helpful. Except reading every word would take hours, maybe even a day – so Chris guessed he’d have to use better judgment and only skim the entries that seemed most relevant…

Volume one: page thirteen.

_**January 18, 2010** _

_**Today we received the prototype of the C-virus, just as promised, from Mr. Gepfner’s partner and as lead scientist I was put in charge, along with my good friend and the new woman. I don’t remember her name.** _

_**The concept of this project is fascinating. I can’t wait to get started!** _

As Chris continued to browse, no other mention of the virus came up – only words he didn’t quite understand, so he started on the next volume: page twenty-three.

_**February 12, 2010** _

_**We injected a man with the virus today, and he died shortly after. I knew it was too soon to try a live specimen. I suggested to the woman that if we injected a parasite— specifically the Trichuris Trichiura— with the virus before introducing it to the host’s body, we may have a better chance. She asked me, “why the whipworm,” and I told her of its rumored cleansing properties… We’ll get started tomorrow.** _

_**Imagine, being able to smoke or drink without having to worry about lung cancer or kidney failure. If we could actually pull this off, it would be a life-changing discovery!** _

Sure. Even Chris missed a cigarette once in a while, but that didn’t mean he lost sleep over it. His understanding of the consequences was what turned him around, cleaned him up. So all this bogus about stripping humanity of fear had him dwindling on the risks of losing self-limitation and will power – because after that was gone, there was nothing left to fight for.

Chris would know. He’d tried limiting his abuse after surviving the mansion incident, thinking that after the death of his _captain –_ at the time – he could let his nightmares go, make things OK, make his life better. But it only seemed to get worse… not just with Wesker’s return at the Antarctic base, Africa, but bioterrorism over the years as well.

_**March 29, 2010** _

_**The parasite does exactly what I predicted, and we’ve also managed to extend the incubation period required for growth. Nine hours seems to be the minimum, eleven hours max, until the parasite can’t ingest anymore, resulting in the regurgitation of toxins into the host’s system, immediately killing the subject.** _

_**There is, however, the option of surgery before the parasite reaches its limit, which would, theoretically, save the subject from perishing.** _

Next volume: page fifteen.

_**April 05, 2010** _

_**We were able to obtain a group of volunteers, and are preparing them for the surgical trial:** _

_**-Subject E, Breast cancer** _

_**-Subject D, Tuberculosis** _

_**-Subject C, Brain tumor** _

_**-Subject B, Alzheimer's disease** _

_**-Subject A, Addison’s disease – her participation in the project has been delayed due to special circumstances** _

_Volunteers? More like test subjects._ Chris complained inwardly as he glanced up briefly. He was never one for interpreting. Mostly because it was a tedious feat to look for keywords among so many journals, keywords that could later be important. Something to expect, especially when dealing with scientists, and Chris’ gaze traveled to Aristov, who had followed his previous suggestion about getting closer to the body. But he didn’t have to get _that_ close…

“Recognize him?” Chris asked, and he was stunned to see Aristov jump slightly, like he had something to hide, before sidestepping away from the corpse.

“N…No. I do not.” His voice wavered as he straightened out with an adjustment to one sleeve of his coat. “However, I did find my card.”

He flashed it at Chris and Jill like it was a valued item, but had enough sense to stop his show when no one was paying attention. The B.S.A.A. agents’ eyes were re-glued to the journals, narrowed in concentration, which meant any talk or prompt of their previous objective – the electronically locked door – would have to wait…

_**April 17, 2010** _

_**The results are phenomenal! I think we’ve finally done it! Though the subjects experienced slight convulsions upon injection, after a brief blackout their vitals returned to normal. Subject E was the only volunteer to die during surgery. I believe this happened because her biological structure was too weak…** _

_**We’ve informed Mr. Gepfner of our progression and he was pleased, yet expressed great disappointment. It seems he wants a way to cure Subject A without having her succumb to such a procedure. I also believe that it is best. With her immune system the way it is now, she would not survive an operation. We don’t want another tragedy like Subject E…** _

_**My next course of action will be to program the parasite to dissolve itself after completing its cycle. This alteration will probably take a week’s time to complete, but afterwards I should have immediate results.** _

_Genetic engineering…_ To Chris, that sounded like Tricell, all right. The same went for Excella Gionne’s handiwork, which became more convincing when he remembered his encounter with Uroboros firsthand. More specifically, the seated man in the African facility – the one who almost successfully embodied the virus, the one with the same citrine eyes as Wesker, the one both he and Sheva were left to fall victim to if not for the flamethrower.

It seemed like God-complexes were a must with the territory, and Chris shook his head while opening volume six— _Wait, what?_ He quickly glanced over the previous journals he’d skimmed, comparing spines. Volume five was missing, and he clicked his tongue knowing there was no time to search for it as he cracked open the sixth of its series, starting on page sixty-seven… with yesterday’s date.

_**June 24, 2010** _

_**Today, the C-virus will be tested on the West village renowned for its high mortality rate, ranging from the common cold to more serious diseases. Mr. Gepfner has decided to go in person, along with Subject C.** _

_**I hope all goes well…** _

A second entry was scribbled on the back.

_**I was disturbed to find that the parasite did not dissolve, but instead broke out of the host. Perhaps I altered the wrong genes, reversing my intentions?** _

_**The fence we placed in case of emergency seems to be containing it for now, but it has started merging with other organisms… Something I did not predict. On another note, it has grown substantially in less than twelve hours. The villagers are beginning to call it, “El Dios.”** _

_**We’ve also discovered that by direct contact with the parasite’s newly formed claws, one is at risk of becoming infected, undergoing cell decomposition, which greatly affects the brain, turning victims into mindless and hungry monsters.** _

_**What have I created? I must rewrite my wrongs, and quickly… Before it’s too late!** _

The last few pages were torn, only detached sheets with weird equations remaining.

“I couldn’t find anything useful on my end. What about you?” Jill asked, breaking the silence when finishing her search on the floor and rising to stand at Chris’ level, beside him.

“Yeah. Hit the jackpot.” He craned his neck and offered her his current volume. “Take a look at this.” And she did, devotedly, leaving Chris with the last journal while she read.

Volume seven: page one. Today’s date was at the top.

_**June 25, 2010** _

_**Something’s wrong. A few of my research notes are missing. I believe that they were stolen. But by who? The only other people who have access to my lab are…** _

_**No. It can’t be… But for what purpose? I will have to confront that person later.** _

_**F…** _

The signature was too blurred to make out.

“This entry... about the claws.” Jill’s voice was indirect when she rolled her page over, front and back, like she wasn’t too sure it the material was accurate. “Saunders… Do you know if he was… I mean, did you see him get scratched?”

“I don’t think so…” Chris breathed, unsure, only managing to blurrily recall the initial grab then drop. After all, it was chaos out there. Dismal. Loud – a lot louder than the scratching at the farthest window, and when Chris looked up with Jill in unison, he felt his brows pinch. “Guess that answers your question…”

There he stood. Long, lost Saunders, just beyond the fogged and moldy glass, feeling it up with wet kisses. His lips were bloody, one of his arms missing, the other bent. But that didn’t slow the eager tilting his head, a single eye moving with curiosity before he dashed out of sight – but not out of mind.

Was he looking for a way to get in?

In short, yes. And in less than a few seconds Saunders doubled back, throwing his body through one of the middling panes. But he didn’t have the upper hand. His teammates were ready before even noticing the discoloration of his skin, peeling and shredded, the mucus dripping from his baring teeth, and even though Jill didn’t want to shoot, that didn’t mean her gun fell any lower than her eyes.

The same went for her partner, and when Saunders lunged it was Chris who fired first, his eyes dropping glumly with his gaze as a splash of blood coated the ground from an instinctive headshot, silencing twitching pupils with nerves no longer alive.

“Aristov,” Chris exhaled, mourning inwardly as he pocketed his gun with his turn. “You OK?”

But the room was empty, the only exit rocking softly with the scientist’s card key discarded on the tiles in front – in plain sight, almost pristine against the staining floor. It sat there glinting, looking placed, _obvious_ , when Jill swiped it and held it out for them both to see.

“Where is he?” She asked just as they heard the sound of a metal door echoing from somewhere in the distance, and suddenly Chris found himself wondering which would be worse.

If others like Saunders got to Aristov first… Or if he did.


	6. Get It In Writing

_**CHRIS REDFIELD REPORT #5 // UNFILED** _

_**This can’t be happening…** _

_**Eleven years in this career, and not once have I been careless enough to let myself get attacked by anything other than a monster. How did I not see this coming?** _

_**…Maybe I am getting old?** _

**___________________**

_It’s scary being alone._ No one had to remind Fawn of that when he finally reached the facility’s third floor summit. Not only was he faced with scaling another dark, long hallway, but the silence was prickling, sending shivers running under and down the rookie’s spine when he paused to catch his breath.

Ever since his mind went visionary and started making out weird shapes among the shadows, every shady corner was now a potential enemy. But as fate would have it, the hall he found himself in was short – only giving him the option of two doors. Except as he moved closer to the first, he noticed the missing handles and bolted edges, so that immediately left him with the alternative.

Door two, which was in fairly good condition when compared to its predecessor. After all, this frame was still intact. The knobs only rusted slightly by the looks of it, and then there was the sign suspended above the framework. A crooked sign reading, _Communications_ , every once in a while due to the short-circuiting letters – and in less than four strides Fawn was at his destination with an excited, “Yes!” thinking he’d done a fine job at fulfilling his objective.

But his enthusiasm was soon replaced by anger when he noticed that, aside from the corrosion, there was also a small chain around the door’s handles as well. A complete set. Lock and no key, which warranted more than a few shakes from the kid and a shoulder before he gave up.

“Great…” Fawn’s hands dropped to be by his side, showing his lack of commitment and defeat in his posture as the seconds turned into minutes. He stood there thinking about what he’d tell Chris and Jill, he stood there thinking where he’d even look for them if he doubled back now. But it didn’t come to that.

The gentle brush of Fawn’s fingers against the butt of his gun was just what he needed to restart the zest in his face despite the dim hall. Yes. If he considered using that…

The rookie turned like he was just struck with a revelation and in one swift lift he put his idea to use. Hammering once, then twice, and was finally successful after try three – confirmed by the sound of broken links tinkering to the floor. It was a great feat for Fawn, but he didn’t dwell on self-admiration. He’d only let himself relax when he finished his mission, _if_ he finished his mission, and with that in mind he slammed his body into the access, which surprisingly popped right off the hinges, sending the kid into the room with a stumble.

Except Fawn didn’t have to be quick to catch himself. There was no one in the area besides him and a desk full of controls spanning the middle section. _His target_ , and it was only after he glued himself to the board that he noticed all the equipment’s lights were off.

Was it because there was no power?

Fawn didn’t know. He wasn’t skilled with these kinds of electronics, after all. But that didn’t stop him from trying, and he looked over a few switches on the dashboard first, checking the color then toggling them – all the while hoping that something would happen.

And something _did_ …

An alarm went off, frightening Fawn to the point of uttering a breathless curse before he moved the lever he’d touched earlier back to its rightful place, immediately ceasing the noise. After that he was more careful, and the next set of dials he tweaked seemed to do the trick. The equipment began humming to life, warming up, and relief swept the rookie’s nose when he exhaled deeply, wasting no time in leaning forward to press the talk button.

“Falcon Eight to Nest, do you read? Falcon Eight to Nest? This is Fawn Burano, do you copy? Is anybody there? Come in, over!”

Fawn took a small step back and as quickly as the button was pressed it was released, as if he was giving the machinery space to do its thing, giving it space to gets its signal out. But when only static stung his ears, he pulled himself back against the equipment, thinking he’d have to turn a few more dials, toggle a couple more switches, change channels – until the silence broke with a raspy,

_**“We read you… Falcon Eight… Go… ahead.”** _

The reception wasn’t strong, like when nearing the beachside early this morning, but it was better than nothing and Fawn’s eyes fell with his fingers when they dropped to accept the call. Except they only made it as far as the desk’s edge. Not because he was hesitant in his response, but more like his words wouldn’t come – especially now that something cold and hard was pressed to the back of his head.

It felt like the barrel of a gun and Fawn could only imagine the stance of its holder. It was held with a certain attitude – one mirroring vaunt – mostly when the rookie tried to move, when he tried to turn. And Fawn’s legs were stuck, stuck with fear as the grinding squeak of leather rubbed his ears like a warning before there was a chuckle – a purring chuckle.

_“Oh, I don’t think so…”_

The voice was amused, male, words natural yet trained, maybe even middle-aged – as far as Fawn could tell anyways. But he didn’t have time to dive any further than deductions, not when a sharp blow to the back of his head crippled him to the floor, silencing him in one swift blow. And just like that Fawn was out cold, oblivious as to what was in store for him, or where he was being taken…

Just like Chris and Jill were oblivious to where Aristov went.

But since they had his card key, they made their way back to the electronically locked room, sliding the thin plastic into the reader and the door beeped open. A stale gust of air the only sign of movement, but that didn’t stop the two from pulling out their handguns, and after a count of three they were in.

Though like the previous room, _the LAB_ , this too was vacant – say for a set of lockers and freestanding shelving next to another door. A door shrouded by synthetic drapes, clear in color, and Chris tried to get a better look at where it led before he found himself distracted by the wall to his right, which was dedicated to various documents strung up by tape and pins. All sheets of different shapes and symbols, and Jill walked ahead of him to pull at the layers, her handgun holstered once again.

But not Chris’, just lowered.

“What are they?” He asked on reflex, knowing it wasn’t really enough time for her to give a thorough answer, but she gave it her best.

“They look like… records of the base Irving destroyed in Africa.” Jill perked, the surprise evident in her hands as she unfastened a few more papers from their fasteners to hold. “They’re all addressed to one _Executive Director Sylon Gepfner_ … Wait, _Gepfner?_ ”

Chris walked up beside Jill just as she turned her gaze to him and he nodded his head in recognition. “Yeah. He was mentioned in the journals.”

“Think he’s working with Tricell?”

“I don’t know—” A hollow clunk and weak gasp from a nearby locker obscured the rest of Chris’ sentence, except he was always a quick thinker and finished naturally with a, “But maybe whoever's in here can tell us!” before he kicked the metal slate open – hoping for the snoop to be Aristov, but a new face crumbled to the floor instead.

It was a man, another man wearing another white coat, who immediately put his hands up in surrender with a shrilled, “P… Please. Don't shoot!” when noticing the guns and only fixed himself no higher than his knees. A good sign of submission, but that didn’t stop Chris from keeping his firearm poised like he had a target to hit.

“Who are you?”

“M…My name is A…Adem Ahmet.” The scientist introduced through a choke, eyes never staying in one place for too long, evenly looking close to tears. Especially when he dropped his head lower like he was praying or asking for a pardon. “D…Don’t hurt me. Please. _Please_.”

It was a sad sight and Chris almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost though, and only went as far as returning the safety to his gun and holding it aside before turning to swipe the records Jill had discarded to the floor in order to draw her weapon.

“What's your connection to Tricell?” Chris gave the papers a wave, making them look so light against the air – unlike the scientist’s shoulders, which tensed at the name.

“T…Tricell?” Ahmet sheepishly glanced up, his features tinted with more confusion than interest. “…There is no connection. Yes, their company tried to purchase this land, but that was a year ago. Ours got here first.”

“And who do you work for?” Chris pried.

“Alkagen Pharmaceuticals.”

“Same company as Aristov.” Jill said carefully, not letting her focus stray even with her handgun lowered, and Ahmet’s complexion paled.

“Aristov?” He repeated, rising a little higher, grounding one foot. “ _Fredek_ Aristov?”

Chris tilted his head. “You know him?” It sounded like the guy did, but at first glance it seemed like the two were from different classes – different branches of science, at least. Although when Chris thought about it, this _Ahmet_ did appear to be more like a stereotypical scientist. The coffee stains on his coat and disheveled hair showcasing the devotion towards his work – not to mention the smell of body odor.

Aristov on the other hand, _Fredek Aristov_ , smelled of after shave, looked neat and clean, and had a conceited atmosphere about him that just screamed aloof or maybe even authoritative…

So it was surprising to hear Ahemt consent with a sincere, “He’s my colleague. I lost contact with him this morning.” before hoisting to both feet to grip at Chris’ closest arm, the one holding the papers. “Where did you see him? I have to tell him about the assignment I was… given…” His eyes trailed to the embroidered logo on Chris’ shoulder, then to Jill and her gun. “You’re… B.S.A.A.?”

However, Ahmet didn’t wait for an answer and quickly snapped back, his wrists bent in another stiff surrender.

“I didn’t do anything— they forced me!”

But Chris wasn’t buying it. His gut was telling him this guy was definitely involved somehow. Either as a main part of the staff, or just a lab rat used by the higher ups – it was too hard to tell at the moment. But Chris didn’t let that stop him from reaching out to grab the sleeve of Ahmet’s coat. “Save it, you’re comin’ with us—”

Except the scientist was slippery like a fish, moving just out of finger’s reach with a step back.

“No! I can’t… I… have to wait here for someone. _He_ said—” Ahmet shielded his mouth briefly, like he almost let something damning slip before he glanced to Jill, looking as if he needed a woman’s ear. “You don’t understand. I have so much to lose. My family… Please, allow me one more task— just one more!” He was violently shaking, and Chris couldn’t tell if it was from the oncoming sobs or fear. But he did recognize something…

The darting eyes and positioning feet.

And after a piercing wail Ahmet fled from the room, one of his shoulders clipping the door’s frame, throwing him slightly off balance. But he kept going – out into the hall where Chris and Jill had previously come – which now meant the chase was on. Except not for long, and just when the two thought they had lost track of Ahmet another cry sounded from around the corner.

 _“Fredek!”_ Which was perfect because Chris now saw his chance to shoot both men.

But as he rounded the bend with Jill he was surprised to see that they were once again in front of the lab where Aristov first played hooky – the same lab where they put Saunders to rest earlier. And after guessing Ahmet might’ve returned for some last minute notes, or something similar, when Chris and Jill finally reentered the room they were even more perplexed to find him kneeling besides a body.

More specifically, the corpse they found earlier – the door blocker.

“No, no, no, no!” Ahmet’s hands were as tangled as his words, one crossing the other ever so often to try and make contact with the cadaver. But when he couldn’t bring himself to touch it, he almost broke down into another sob. “Fre… Fredek.”

His snivel wasn’t as loud as before, but regardless, Jill waited for Ahmet to calm down again before she stepped up to be beside Chris, who was sided just a little ways in front. “ _This_ is Fredek Aristov?” She asked and the scientist nodded, drawing in a shaky breath as he finally gathered the courage to lightly pat the dead man’s chest.

“My friend, how could this happen? _He_ told me he wouldn’t— you two were just supposed to talk!”

“ _Talk?_ Talk about _what_?” It was Chris’ turn to walk a few paces ahead of Jill, closer to Ahmet, but just as he hovered – at a distance close enough to be considered daunting – another thought hit him and he was quick to press with a more interested, “Who’s _he_?” Except when all Chris heard was sniveling, nothing close to a response, he was impulsive to reach out to try and grab Ahmet by the arm. “Hey! Answer me!”

But Jill moved to grab her partner’s arm instead, or at least before he managed to get a solid hold. “Chris!” Her tone was warning with her tug, although he wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

“ _Who_ are you talkin’ about?” Chris reworded, pausing momentarily only when seeing Ahmet’s lips move, which almost seemed like the beginning of a reply, but one never came – just a silent mouth of what vaguely looked like a name. _Chris’ name_ , but right now he didn’t care. “Look, I asked you a question!”

His voice was a little louder than before and the force was enough to shrink the scientist into a low and reserved hunch. Not enough to inhibit access to his pockets though, where he was soon to stuff his hands. It was a small gesture, but just enough to dodge the full swipe thrown his way. Except with Jill as a hindrance, Chris only managed to hook the base of Ahmet’s collar, which wasn't enough to turn the man around, but it seemed he didn't need to…

Ahmet turned himself, simultaneously slipping from his coat before twisting to stab Chris in the upper limb with a needle and bellowed, “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!”

It sounded like damnation. Equally a sad excuse as the plunger was pushed down, siphoning the vile of dark liquid into Chris’ veins – who was quick to snap back in a stagger and toss to the syringe.

And before the booster even landed the floor, Chris flew a hand to where the needle had left its mark. A small punctured hole the size of a freckle, but the effects were much bigger and all happened so fast. Chris’ whole arm burned, prickling numb, a rush of hot and cold. Chills too – starting around his bicep, then rushing to his cheeks and behind his ears, and he barely had enough control to steady himself beside the center table.

“What the hell… did you just inject me with!” Chris’ eyes were tapered, sharp, but also losing their awareness when he looked up. Just like his aim, and when Ahmet didn’t answer he threw a half-assed punch, catching the scientist’s chin, but not fully, only causing the man to drawback to evade another swing. Except this time, when Ahmet ducked again, he scrambled away and out of sight – leaving a hesitant Jill to deal with the aftermath.

Her features were drained when she gripped at her partner’s shoulder, frightened for the truth, frightened about what this could mean. Honestly, she couldn’t bring herself to think about the possible outcome. Not now. She didn’t want to think about mutations or viruses, for that matter. She just wanted to think about _him_. The one she had cared for before Raccoon City. The one she knew she could count on time and time again. Chris—

“I’m fine!” He groaned, answering Jill’s unasked question while trying to hold back a moan as he nearly slipped from the table’s support. His fingers were visibly quivering from the pain, from the way he propped himself at the edge – his only crutch at the moment – but he still managed to point her in the right direction with a hand. Except his balance was off, and he followed where he motioned in two lost steps and a pant. “Just… go after him!”

“But—”

“GO, Jill!” Chris practically yelled and she took a step back with a stare he knew well. It was the same one he wore the day she’d asked him to leave her behind, to go on ahead and stop… Well, _save the world_. And like then, timing was crucial.

They needed answers and they needed them five minutes ago – and when that finally seemed to sink in for Jill she was turning on her heels in one motion. “I’ll come back for you.” She promised, glancing back over her shoulder briefly before running after Ahmet.

After all, it was the least she could do – find the cause, cure the effect – and Chris waited until she was out of sight before trying to move again, before trying to find somewhere to sit.

Except he didn’t get far.

In less than a few steps his vision crossed, merging the colors of the walls and floor on a plane somewhere in between, and Chris couldn’t tell where his boot landed when he finally set it. In front of the other? On top? He wasn't on his face yet, so he was beginning to think it was as good a spot as any – until a sharp curve had him rethinking his praise.

“Shit…” Chris groaned in an instinctive lash for the table once more, and for a minute everything returned to normal, which gave him time to think, time to recap on what the hell just happened. Though it was obvious.

Chris Redfield had let his curiosity blind him into letting his guard down and now he was infected. Infected with what? He didn’t want to think about it, and just hoped it wasn’t what he thought it was – just hoped it wasn’t the same strain like back at the village. But there was a fine line between blind faith and _simply knowing,_ and right now, Chris didn’t want to face the facts…

Even when tranquility passed, blanketing the floor tiles in a stark white. The same went for the lights strewn across the ceiling when he let his head roll back. They smeared his surroundings, pulsed, mimicking the beat of his heart, and once a tight sensation stretched into his lungs, Chris was pulling at his gear.

He needed to breathe easier, thinking it would help if he just loosened his vest, and he sloppily worked at his straps. But even when the damn thing was splayed open Chris still couldn’t catch his breath, and pretty soon his legs bowed. Stooped like the full weight of the room was about to crash over him, and there was no stopping gravity.

Chris fell… and he fell hard.

Sent to the floor like someone had performed a sweep to his calves and at first he was seeing stars. But after a moment, when he managed to roll himself to the side, they disappeared. Not like the pain in his chest though. It was burning, burning like there was a fire brooding inside his veins; blood siphoning and spreading fear and poison with every pump.

But the volume didn’t stop there. Aside from hearing his own pulse pounding in his ears, after another surge of pain, Chris could hear a low drone of movement. Small at first, but as he strained, jaw clenched against the sensitivity, it sounded much closer. Close enough that he could identify the noise as footsteps – _approaching footsteps_ – and Chris arched his neck wearily when trying to look past his feet.

“Ji… Jill…” He assumed in a short groan, thinking she had come back for him, stopped her pursuit of Ahmet because of worry.

But it was useless to put a name to the shadow leering overhead, especially now that his vision was nearly at its end. Though through his struggle, Chris did manage to glimpse an outline of the face. Nothing in great detail, just its sharp features and tinted sockets, sockets as black as midnight. And if Chris didn’t know any better, against the figure’s pale complexion, he’d say they kind of looked like sunglasses…

And it was then Chris felt his throat tighten in a choke, his wrists curling tightly with his fingers as he cursed his brain for having a really crappy sense of humor, because there was no way in hell that it was—

A suppressed chuckle singed the hairs on Chris’ arms and he swallowed hard, feeling his blood thin cold despite the heat of his body. There was no denying he knew that laugh, learned to loathe that laugh, never thought he'd hear that laugh again. Not in a million years… And Chris tried to force himself to keep his eyes open, to stay awake long enough to see if what he was seeing wasn’t just a trick – a trick of his mind or a trick of the venom coursing through his veins.

But he couldn’t, not when they were nearly closed already, not when the smile in his ear was as real to him as his torture. And just as Chris felt himself passing out, a leather glove brushing his cheek in a greeting, there was no doubt in his mind that the person was…

_“Long time no see, Chris.”_


	7. Back From The Grave

**_CHRIS REDFIELD REPORT #6 // UNFILED_ **

**_I should’ve known… Somewhere in the back of my mind I felt those rockets wouldn’t be enough to keep him down. Only hoped they could._ **

**_The state of the village and its inhabitants… This whole situation practically screamed Kijuju, so why did I need to see him in person to finally accept it?_ **

**_____________________ **

Chris’ eyes shot open, a little too fast for comfort and dangerously close to strain, but sharp enough to show he was responsive. But consciousness meant nothing if he couldn’t see. His vision was still blurry, additionally racked with vertigo and haze. Especially against the bleached ceilings above. They looked as washed-out as he felt, flaccid and spent across the tiled floor where he…

Fell.

 _That’s right_ , Chris thought. Despite the swimming of his head he could still remember that much. But as for how long he was out? Chris didn’t have a clue. Except that didn’t matter when there was a sudden pang of pain to one of his biceps because that’s when he also remembered _that_. The damn needle, and if that wasn’t a dream then—

_“Took you long enough. I was beginning to tire of waiting.”_

Chris visibly cringed against the tiles. His ears felt hot like his lungs, a burn that was just beginning to lift from his chest but the familiar accent rekindled it. More from anger than pain, though, and Chris practically had to will his glare into the ceiling to keep it from trying to attack the man standing at the table next to him. The only man who could make his skin tighten with just a laugh… _that_ laugh.

Wesker chuckled, not in a booming rumble but more like something subtle. A mix between a triumphant sound and an evocative purr as he closed the folder he’d so patiently preoccupied himself with while Chris slept away the first half of their reunion.

One quite amusing, Wesker would like to think. Particularly how it ended, with his ex-subordinate in a place of submission, one susceptible to control… and torture.

Chris missed the flash of reverie in Wesker’s eyes, but he felt the gaze. The slow and crawling pan over his body, which had him flexing his fists in a warning. But that was all he could do. His fingers were numb. _He_ was numb from head to toe, and Chris knew it wasn’t because he was given a muscle relaxant, which had his face creasing dark.

 _It has to be the virus’ doin’_ , he told himself, and as much as he didn’t want to admit that his gut was telling him to consider the evidence… just as his curiosity was also begging him to ask.

“How the hell—”

“Am I still alive?”

“—did you get to Guatemala?”

Wesker felt the right side of mouth curve into a sneer, noticeably bowled at his ex-subordinate’s sharp tongue despite all odds – those being his helplessness. But Chris couldn’t see it, and knowing that made Wesker only want to taunt him more. “Don’t you want to know how I survived?”

“No.” Chris grunted as he tried to arch his back. “Because it probably has somethin’ to do with your damn virus.”

“Perceptive.” Wesker commended, finally feeling the hunger to push his distance. With one step he moved closer, slowly, and made sure to emphasize the careful placement of his boot with a hard tap. Followed by the other, which was when Chris reluctantly tensed.

Oh yes. Wesker smirked. This was definitely something he had missed. The pressure between them, the curb of power. A beat he knew well. It was the same as that night at the volcano, when he had to wait for Chris to make _his_ move, _the rockets_ , which were simply mere pawns to his makeshift king – himself, his own sacrifice.

 _Self-sacrifice,_ a role Wesker knew was undeniably fit for a God, and even after a little revision to his plans they went exactly as he predicted. He was taken off the B.S.A.A.’s board and presumed dead, which gave him the chance to move about freely… all for this day.

Wesker took a deep breath at the breadth of his own success and ribbed with another step forward, this time flicking out a wrist when finally thinking it best to answer Chris’ question. It was the least he could do, he supposed. Play along.

“I took a plane.”

Chris almost wanted to scoff. _With what passport?_ After Wesker’s supposed death at the volcano he’d kept an eye on anything that might’ve indicated his ex-captain once again played possum. From surveying airports to tracking credit cards, all of which turned up empty. So what was this bullshit about flying? Unless…

“My own personal jet.” Wesker added, deviously, and the tone itself was just enough provoking to finally win a reaction from Chris, who eventually gave into instinct and turned his head towards Wesker. Hesitantly, because he was almost afraid to look.

Years ago at the Antarctic Base, Wesker’s face was scorched by fire and falling debris, yet when reunited at the Spencer Estate there wasn’t a scar on him… But that didn’t compare to bathing in lava and being capped by two RPGs. So Chris wasn’t really sure what to expect. Either a disfigured monster or—

Their gazes interlocked… or at least Chris assumed they did. It was hard to tell because of those shades. But there he stood. Albert Wesker. Those abs of his looking just as pumped and ready for another brawl as they did in the past and his hair that all too familiar style of slick. Even his damn outfit looked the same…

Though that’s because it probably was, Chris grumbled inwardly, especially when remembering how his ex-captain only knew of one shade. A color as corrupt and pitch black as his heart, and although Wesker was still human in appearance on the outside, Chris had a feeling he was all Uroboros on the inside. More so than last.

_“Baby blue.”_

Chris almost let his gaze stray. “…What?”

“Your eyes.” Wesker exhaled, curiously, as he allowed himself another step closer. “They looked darker the last time I saw you. Auburn, angrier… You’ve gone soft.” There was a hint of pity in his voice before it turned smug through his teeth and into an expression full of conceit. “Good. Means you’ll be easier to break.”

“Sorry, but I’m not a horse.” Chris said, strongly, despite knowing his wittiness was going to get the better of him. But he wasn’t about to let Wesker talk down to him like an easy mark.

Chris still had more than enough fight left to give, especially now that it seemed like the effects of the injection were starting to wear off. He could feel it, the sensation returning to his body, but no lower than his waist. His legs were still unresponsive and numb, so it looked like Chris would have to stall Wesker a bit longer… but how?

Chris wasn’t really good at holding conversations. He was more used to talking with his fists than smarts, and his gut rolled at the thought of using sarcasm again, his classic defense. But in the end, it happened – and this time not for the best.

“What’re you plannin’ on doin’ after you break me, anyways? Ride me?”

“Doesn’t seem like a bad idea.” Wesker mused, in a tone a little too serious to be taken as a joke, and Chris felt his heart jump a beat in his chest. But not until Wesker was practically hovering over him with a look he’d seen one too many times before. Something bordering resentment and justification. “You’ve always been a thorn in my side, Chris. So I only think it’s fair I return the favor.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me.” Wesker pieced through a laugh. “Humiliating you would be so much fun.”

Chris curled his nose. He knew there was some truth to those words, just as he knew he should’ve bitten his tongue. But in all his years silence was never his flair. Anger was, and once Chris sensed the last of the sedative leave his legs he sharply filled his lungs and made a sweep.

In less than a second the tip of his boot swiped Wesker’s left calf and as the man stumbled with a grunt Chris did an immediate back roll under the center table. But even with surprise on his side he didn’t get very far, only as high as a rise and a reach to the table’s edge for balance before his ex-captain was back on his feet.

“Not bad.” Wesker snarled, admirably.

Though despite the praise it was seethed through a familiar bitterness. The very same acidic look now binding his features. The morbid scowl in place of his haunting smile, his teeth curling from the tops of his lips instead of just resting, and Chris’ pulse quickened.

Shit. With all but a metal table between them, it was almost obvious how this was going to end…

☢

 _Aristov’s_ footsteps echoed along one of the many facility halls. His swiftness was great, his patience thin, and before long he was pulling at the pallet coat draping his shoulders to once again become his true self – Executive Director Sylon Gepfner. It was a disguise he no longer needed, _that man’s_ suggestion, and after a minute he also removed his glasses, tucking them away before fixing his tie and rounding a corner like he was headed to a business conference – one where he knew to have one less employee present…

_June 24, 2010, 15:58 p.m._

_“A mole?” Fredek Aristov, a man of forty-two years and knowledge of biological sciences, stood abruptly from his chair, his medium build rigid with alarm as he ceased working on the C-virus prototype. “Mr. Gepfner, you can’t be serious!”_

_“I am.” Gepfner slowly siphoned some papers from his attaché case onto Aristov’s desk. “Here are various emails to rivaling companies and bargaining offers to U.S. government.” The rest were tossed to the floor without a care. “How much did they offer you, mhm? Double— triple the amount I’m paying?”_

_“Those aren’t mine! Please, you’ve got to believe me!” Aristov shook his head, more noticeably when forcing himself to look in Wesker’s direction, who was standing in the doorway of the lab, arms crossed over his own lab coat and wearing a yawning frown. “I’ve done nothing wrong! My journals… Check my journals! Volume eight— it’s all there!”_

_“What is?” Wesker asked._

_“Evi…Evidence that proves I’m telling the truth!”_

_Wesker’s mouth thinned. He hated the idea of manual labor, but at this point he was beginning to think it was better to do it himself than through others. So much chaff otherwise, and he complacently uncrossed his arms and peeled his back from the wall to check the pile of composition notebooks on the nearest table, which he examined thoroughly._

_“…It’s not here.”_

_“W…What?”Aristov’s face twisted with alarm. “No, it should be.” He attempted a step._

_“I don’t think so.” Wesker upholstered his magnum in a swift turn. He was beginning to tire at the insubordination, and by the time the scientist’s hands went up in surrender the safety was already off. “Does it even exist or are you trying to deceive me?”_

_“Sir, I am an honest, hard-working man, who’s been with you and Mr. Gepfner since the beginning of this project.” Aristov slung his eyes between both men, his boss and business partner. “This experiment is my life’s work and I wouldn’t do anything to sabotage it or the company! Can’t you see you’re being misled?”_

_Gepfner raised one of his brows. “Are you calling us blind?”_

_“Y…Yes!” Aristov shouted, impulsively, but he was quick to correct himself. “No. I mean… all I’m saying is that there IS a mole within Alkagen, but I’m not it. You’re accusing the wrong person!”_

_There was a tentative pause, and when Aristov noticed his words weren’t getting through to anyone he took a deep breath, then swallowed hard._

_“Look. I would lay down my life for this company— no, for the truth. So if you still have any doubt in your heart about my innocence, then please, by all means…” Aristov straightened his back and opened his arms wide. “Kill me—”_

_“Pleasure.”_

_“No!” Gepfner threw out hand in a ceasing motion, and although Wesker didn’t take kindly to orders given by anyone other than himself he stopped his threat. He did have an appearance to keep up, after all, no matter the itch. “I would prefer to keep him alive. Mole, or not, he is good at what he does…”_

_“Fine.”_

But in the end, everything wasn’t just _fine_ …

Gepfner felt enraged after seeing Fredek Aristov dead back in the lab. When he left the scientist to his last twenty-four hours of employment yesterday he was still alive, Albert Wesker promising to leave him alone…

Did the man go back on his word? Or did the real mole take him out – believing Aristov to be more of a threat than scapegoat?

Gepfner didn’t know which was harder to accept and decided to stop thinking about it altogether. He had more pressing matters to attend to, and after a minute he found himself in front of another lab. It was slightly different than the ones he’d just passed on his way over. Instead of a card reader next to the door there was a number pad and after Gepfner put in the code it opened with a piercing beep. And without delay, he pushed his way in.

Inside, the room was just like any other laboratory. Tiled floors, a catacomb of worktables, and countless shelves stacked high with scientific instruments. But at the back was an office, and once Gepfner closed the main door behind him he made his way there. Except just as his fingers reached the handle it turned by itself.

“Director. You’re back early.”

Civil’s greeting was muffled from behind the mask of his biohazard suit, but it was also dutiful as he patiently held the door open long enough for Gepfner to walk by, into the middle of the office, where he finally stopped.

“There has been a change of plans. Fredek Aristov is dead.”

“What?”

A sliver of shock broke through Civil’s usually stoic tone, as did Gepfner’s expression. It was much harder than he thought to try and explain the circumstances aloud and he pinched the bridge of his nose as if he was trying to blot Aristov’s face from the center of his mind, a look all twisted in pain and death. It was unsettling – as was the situation. But Gepfner didn’t feel like he could afford to lose face now, not when he still had some ideas on how to proceed… or resources left to use.

“While Aristov’s loss is unfortunate, he was not the only scientist here.”

“Muller?” Civil knew the reference. “Sir. That woman can’t be trusted.”

“Yes. But she is just as good at her job as Aristov was his… Perhaps better.”

 _I need better_. Gepfner didn’t dare utter the words out loud, his face said it all. The worry. The concern. It was etched within the wrinkles lacing his forehead like an external picture, the wrinkles of a man who had more than himself to look out for… and he did.

_“Daddy!”_

Gepfner turned around to see his daughter run out from underneath the desk at the back. Her curly, brunette hair bounced with her haste, and the subtle sadness in her eyes for having been told to stay out of sight was immediately replaced by joy by the time she made it in front of her father.

“Aunya, darling.” Gepfner breathed, lovingly, as he bent slightly at the waist to pick her up off the ground in a scoop. “Have you been good girl?”

There wasn’t any qualm to Gepfner’s question, just acknowledgement. But Aunya dropped her chin like she was being reprimanded anyways. Even though Civil wasn’t going to admit it, she had been naughty. Around midday she had grown bored and snuck out when he wasn’t looking, causing him to panic, and during his rush in returning her to the office she’d dropped something… something very precious to her.

A specific toy. One with yellow yarn for hair, hair that was thinning because she braided it so often. The same one she kept close in remembrance of her mother, as a memento of sorts. A doll.

“I lost _Sunny_ …”

Aunya’s voice was soft and saddened when she hugged around her father’s neck, and Gepfner stroked her head in a soothing manner despite the disappointment swirling his mind. Though it was more like vex, the thought of her running into the B.S.A.A. as they continued their snoop of the facility an unpleasant one. But since she was safe and unharmed in his arms he wasn’t going to be stern. Just aware. Especially when she started coughing.

“Sunny could not have gotten too far.” Gepfner finished his first reply softly before he rested a palm against her right cheek. It was hot to the touch and he knit his brow in concern. She was getting a fever. “Have you taken your medication?”

Aunya shook her head no, timidly. “It… makes me feel sick.”

Gepfner felt his chest stricken with heartache. “I know, my dear. But you only need it for a little while longer.” He moved the same hand against her cheek to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just as soon as Papa can take care of business, mhm?”

“The bees?”

“That’s right.” Gepfner smiled, crookedly, as he sat his daughter down on the edge of the desk.

The _B_.S.A.A..


	8. Slow On The Uptake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just played the HD remaster of RE:Zero after what feels like years... Dat Wesker Mode. OMFG WE MISS THIS FANDOM (hence the update.) TT_TT Sorry for the neglect. There are no excuses.

**_CHRIS REDFIELD REPORT #7 // UNFILED_ **

**_There was a time when I felt compelled to impress Albert Wesker. Determined to make a name for myself, to prove my skills. It was a shared desire of every recruit on my team._ **

**_Fortunately, without much effort, my potential was noticed, giving me the chance to become the reputable solider I strove to be. And I succeeded. Risking my life on multiple occasions, and following all orders to the T…_ **

**_But at what cost?_ **

**_My loyalty left me blind—the aftermath nothing but a battlefield, leaving me stained with painful memories: the kind you cringe at when opening a photo album, knowing now that it was all just a lie._ **

**_That proud smile and occasional dry laugh… Was any of it real?_ **

**_____________________ **

When Wesker moved around the table, Chris moved with him. They were like mirror images of one another, reflecting the same embodied caution and care not to move too soon or too fast. It was easier for Wesker. His vision wasn’t constantly blurring in and out like Chris’ was, but Chris didn’t let such an induced defect become his shortcoming. He forced himself to stare the evil before him straight in the face, knowing better than to look astray. He couldn’t get distracted. He had to—  
  
Wesker suddenly slammed both his hands down onto the metallic surface of the table, bringing his shoulders up and into a hunch like a cat ready to pounce. Chris immediately regretted giving Wesker the pleasure of seeing him startled, but he was just that. Any more force and he almost expected the table to snap in half or Wesker to get enough height to jump the damn thing. Thankfully it was neither, only a somber smile. But even that made the blood in Chris’ veins go cold.

“Do I frighten you that much?” Wesker mused, his voice hinting more towards nostalgia than interest.

Chris scoffed. Did Wesker really expect him to answer that? Here he was: standing before a man who had been impaled by a Tyrant, crushed by falling beams, thrown out a window and off the side of a cliff, shot point-blank in the face, cast parachute-less from a bomber jet, surrounded by a pool of lava, waist-deep and unfazed by the unearthly temperature of it all while screaming Chris’ name, prior to eating two rockets… And Chris couldn’t forget Wesker’s overdosing of Uroboros, the most sinister virus he had come up against before today. All of which, took place during one lifetime. Fear wasn’t the right word, but yeah. He was kind of running out of ideas on how to kill this bastard.

If Hell refused to take him, and that didn’t end him, what the hell would? Chris could only marvel.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had time alone like this. You and I.”

“What?” Chris deadpanned. He honestly didn’t know where that came from, but wouldn’t try deciding if Wesker’s words were meant as a tribute of admiration or envy. He didn’t have the time, and glanced to the lone clock on the wall peeking out from behind cabinet shutters.

Tick-tock. Seconds were wasting. He had to get out of here, away from this. The more distance he put between the both of them the better… But how? That was the real question. Once he left the safety of the table he was a goner. Unless he used a diversion?

Chris’ eyes circled the room to see if he could use anything to his advantage and they soon befell the big window Saunders had used to get in. There was that, but would it work? There was only one way to find out, Chris guessed, and feigned the best half-cocked grin he could manage.

“Alone, huh?” He tried to shrug off the uncertainty in his voice. “Where’d you get that impression?”

“What.” Wesker’s frown was flat alongside his tone. His light brows were barely peeking from under his dark sunglasses by the time his expression deepened into in a look of annoyance.

Chris pointed at the window behind Wesker, more specifically, his reflection cast in the broken glass. “Jill, do it now!” He shouted, and foolishly hoped that it was enough to get Wesker to look away. Doubt almost set in when there was a stagnant pause, but to all surprise, his ex-captain eventually grew a weary smirk, drew his magnum, and turned.

A shot was fired into whatever glass was left to make the window frame, shattering it further and sending shards aplenty tinkering to the floor. Wesker wasn’t messing around this round, not like those before it. He was different, out for blood and single-minded revenge, and Chris took the opportunity to bolt for the doorway. He didn’t even think twice when jumping over Fredek’s body. It was a natural instinct, impulse, and he was halfway down the hall before he heard a very crestfallen growl echo from long behind him.

 _“Can’t believe I fell for that,”_ was the following murmur.

Chris couldn’t believe Wesker did either, but at least he got a head start and used his legs as though he was racing a countdown. In a dash, he was through one of the adjoining rooms, jumping over whatever equipment he couldn’t get around, and ramming his shoulder against the first door he could see. It wasn’t an exit, more like a doorway to another hall of rooms, but Chris didn’t care. He hit it, and he hit it hard. His energy was so great, the door swung open with his weight.

_“Oh, there’s nowhere to run, Chris! I’ll get you: one way or another.”_

Wesker sounded so goddamn conceited, just like the past and just the way Chris remembered him. It was intimidating, forcing Chris to pick up his pace even though he didn’t think he could move any faster, and somehow he managed to round one more corner before a numbness washed over him. The feeling was sudden and Chris came to an immediate halt, the soles of his shoes scuffing the marble floors in echo of the abruptness. He lurched forward, suppressing a grunt as his balance was lost and he dropped to his knees. His fall was so uneven that he had to throw out both hands to keep his face from colliding against the ground and there he stayed for a few seconds, panting to catch his breath.

“What… the hell?” Chris asked, though he knew his own answer. The side effects of the drug he had been administered earlier weren’t through with him. His constantly fading vision was evidence of that. He needed to slow down, he could feel it in his lungs, but the want to get away fast was much stronger. If only his body would listen. He barely had one foot positioned for a stand before Wesker’s voice shook him back down.

_“Are you even trying?”_

It was so close now… right behind him. Chris hardly had any time to swivel a look before a strong hand came down onto his shoulder. It was supposed to have been a finishing move, executed the same way a cat would pin a mouse, but somehow Chris still had some fight left in him and threw himself to the side and out of harm’s way. He regained his composure only to find himself being stared down by obscured eyes. If he concentrated hard enough he could almost see their amber color through the dark lenses of those sunglasses, and pitted a shiver during his reach for his handgun. Except his fingers only met an empty holster.

“Where…” Chris stole a glance at it.

Wesker tsked boldly. He slipped a hand into his trench coat and pulled out Chris’ Beretta, giving it a wave for good measure. “I took the liberty of disarming you while you slept.”

Chris’ fingers twitched, then quickly reached over his shoulder for—

“Your knife, too. Hope you don’t mind.” Wesker was already smiling, but he strained it wider because he _knew_ Chris did. He did indeed, as seen in those thick arms tensing with fury and that broad chest heaving with exhaustion.

Chris didn’t even try hiding his interest in Wesker’s magnum as he watched Wesker pocket his Beretta. He let his eyes trail to it in frankness and hardened his expression.

What was Wesker waiting for? The bastard obviously had the upper hand, as much as Chris hated to admit it, so why—

“Your resistant is futile,” Wesker purred.

“And…” Chris took a moment to work around his words. He was almost afraid to hear the answer. “What exactly am I resisting?”

“ _Me_.”

“Great.” Chris felt more crazy talk coming on.

“I’m interested, Chris…” Wesker inspected an open palm, turning it over as if to look at nails hidden by leather. “How _did_ you manage to find out about this place?”

That had to be the most practical question Wesker had asked today. Chris snorted. “Sorry, but I’m not gonna answer that.”

“Such loyalty.” Wesker’s tawny eyes flashed behind his dark lenses, their glow bright enough to be seen again. He raised a brow and loosely clenched his fist. “Then let me guess. Someone by the name of _Walker Berets_ tipped you off, perhaps?” And as if on cue thunder sounded in the background, giving an ominous presence to the already tense atmosphere.

That was too good for a mere guess. Chris felt his lips part slightly in ready of a question. It would have been ‘how the hell’ if he didn’t feel as dumbfounded as he did.

“It was an anagram of my name.” Wesker answered quite smugly after letting a moment or two of silence sink in. “Couldn’t have given you my real one, after all.”

Chris felt his mouth snap shut. “Cut the crap!” He waved an arm like he was deflecting lies. “Walker Berets has been a reputable source with the B.S.A.A. for over half a year! There’s no way—”

“Yes.” Wesker beamed. “That’s what I love about your organization, so quick to follow orders without asking questions. The _perfect_ little soldiers.”

“But his record was clean. It all checked out!” Chris, _himself_ , rechecked it. Twice. “Walker Berets even aided us in—”

“Taking down a few pharmaceutical companies by providing crucial information on their corruption?”

Wesker sounded like he was quoting, and Chris knew the source. The very same line was written in an email to the B.S.A.A. a couple months back.

“Have you forgotten I’m good with computers?” Wesker wriggled a few fingers at Chris in a careful taunt. “So _easy_ to manipulate data.”

Chris made the motion to speak—

“No need to thank me.”

—Oh, Chris wasn’t going to. And Wesker knew that. But there was nothing like getting the last laugh. Literally.

“It was _your_ performance that destroyed Alkagen’s competitors.” Wesker gave Chris an applause: one, two. “Commendable.” He said and his lips soon peeled back with a sinister chuckle. “Admit it. You bit the hook, and I reeled you in.”

“You bastard…” Chris clenched his fists tightly. He could feel the leather of his gloves squeeze away at the skin of his hands and feel a fire burning deep within his belly as realization began to consume him. He had been blind to Wesker’s lure all along. There was no leaked Intel. There never was. “It was all a set up…”

“Now you’re catching on.” Wesker said and Chris growled. He still didn’t understand.

“Why?” He asked. “What could you possibly hope to accomplish with all of this? Umbrella’s gone—your plans with Tricell failed! There’s nothing left for you!”

Despite all the insults – yes, Chris was pretty sure the arrogant, narcissistic asshole considered them so – their gazes stayed glued to one another. Chris wanted answers, to find a flaw on Wesker’s face, but could only see his own rage staring him back within the lenses of Wesker’s tinted glasses. Wesker’s stoical persona never wavered.

“How are you feeling, Chris?” Wesker asked.

“Wha—” The question was so impassive and out of the blue that Chris felt thrown off-guard. His body slanted. What the hell did his health have to do with any of this? Was the pain and confusion on his face not clear enough already? “This has nothin’ to do with me!”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong.” Wesker was a matter-of-fact with his words, his chest swelling with a sense of worth, a breath. “This has _everything_ to do with you…”

It was true that he was always ridiculing Chris Redfield, degrading him when standing side by side, treating him like someone inferior – which he undoubtedly was. But there was a time when Albert Wesker didn’t consider him as such. Chris wasn’t always as deluded as Wesker made him out to be. No. Chris used to be a friend; a _comrade_ , someone Wesker could feel proud of. And Wesker _was_ proud, ever since that fateful night in the Arklay Mountains and beyond. And before Wesker knew it himself his admiration for Chris had only evolved into something monstrous, enough so that during their reunite at the Antarctic Base the taunt he had exchanged with Chris about Steve coming back to see little sister, Claire, had truly been meant for Chris himself.

_Just as I came back to see you._

Wesker’s eyes battered slightly at the remembrance of his unvoiced words. So badly he had wanted to confess to Chris that day, but since the gap between them had grown into a chasm over the months they were apart, he decided it was better to keep his feelings locked away. Back then wasn’t a good time to reveal his fondness of Chris, and now wasn’t any better.

He would have to bury his feelings, along with the enemy before him. After all, the prototype of the C-virus was already coursing through those hot veins Wesker knew so well, the strain he altered himself with a more potent strand. That’s right. The B.S.A.A. agent’s time was running out, and sooner or later he would succumb to the parasite. It was all set in stone, nothing could change the ending.

Wesker released a rough breath through clenched teeth as he tried to disregard their simple past. The truth was so far greater than the memories. It was his now, his purpose. “It’s _always_ been about you, Chris.” He continued. “The rest of the world just doesn’t understand—”

Chris nearly laughed. “And you think I do?” Because he didn’t. He wasn’t in Wesker’s head, and hoped he would never have the privilege of seeing eye-to-eye with a madman. Surely that would make him mad, too.

“Since the beginning, I had wanted you by my side. Together, our forces combined…” Wesker felt a slight sting of anger crease his features. He almost didn’t see the point in continuing. It felt like he was nigh on talking to himself with how little attention Chris was giving him, and Wesker hated the sensation of seclusion as much as he hated failure. All the things he and Chris could have accomplished as one instead of opposites. There could have been a list. It was unfortunate it had to be this way. Unfortunate, indeed. “We could have made this world a Utopia!”

“Save it, Wesker!” Chris shouted. Wesker had to know that that would have never have happened. Right? A low chuckle had Chris rethinking his conviction. “…What’s so funny?”

“Oh, Chris.” Wesker pampered as he removed his sunglasses, coming down from his spontaneous height of anger. “It’s already too late for you, I’m afraid.”

But that was a lie. Albert Wesker was never _afraid_. He was as bold as the amber burning in his eyes – anyone could see that. The dare was in every move he made. Wesker didn’t know fright, he hadn’t since the Mansion Incident. He only knew challenge and when he started walking towards Chris after what felt like long last, Chris saw the confrontation. Wesker was looking for a fight. Chris wanted to think that he was ready for anything Wesker decided to throw at him, but between his own reaction time – his immediate rise and executed punch – Wesker had already made his move, sunglasses discarded on the floor.

In a blur, he deflected Chris’ extended fist and used it as leverage to flip him. Chris let out a mixed cry of surprise and pain as his back hit the ground. He had fallen from higher heights before, but when coupled with the effects of the virus coursing through him a grovel was inevitable. His recovery was much slower than normal and he barely managed to hoist himself onto his elbows before Wesker straddled him, pinning him under twice his own body weight. Chris almost saw stars.

Wesker merely released a soft purr, chin down and stare judging. “How disappointing,” he said, his tone lustful.

“God… damn you… Wesker!” Chris wanted to buck, to shout louder, but he stopped all struggling when a hand was lowered to hover over his neck. His lifeline.

“Gods can’t damn other gods.” Wesker mused. He could practically see Chris’ pulse trying to pound itself free from his neckline. Oh, was it ever so strong and fast. Wesker made sure to close his fingers around it and clamp down frightfully hard in a reminder of mortality. “Only humans can.”

Chris gulped in a painful gasp, his breath thin. He tried to turn his head away from Wesker as his ex-captain defied the boundaries of individual space and pressed their bodies together, but the distance was so intimate and close that Chris couldn’t escape Wesker’s presence no matter which way his head went. Chris felt hot with ridicule. Against better judgment, he chanced a further struggle. “Get… off’a me!”

But then Wesker’s grip tightened around his neck with almost bone-crushing force. Again Chris fell still in surrender, hating how submissive he was being made to seem. Especially under Wesker’s naked stare.

“Last time I managed to get my hands on you like this was at the… Spencer Estate, wasn’t it?” The left side of Wesker’s mouth twitched, trying to subdue amusement. He was enjoying this. “Too bad there’s no _Jill_ to save you this time.”

“Huh?” Wait? Did that mean, at the Spencer Estate… Wesker was going to—

The full force of Wesker’s lips crashing down onto his own jarred Chris out of thought and mind. He should have seen it coming, but everything was just so up in the air. The past, the future. He was left growling as Wesker bit and sucked hungrily at his mouth, squirming in resistance. Chris tried to push him back, to push him away, to get him off, but it was hard with how Wesker was purposely shoving all one-hundred and ninety-eight pounds down onto him. He was at the devil’s mercy.

“It’ll be like… old times… eh, Chris?” Wesker pulled away with a satisfied breath. Chris, on the other hand, responded with a sour snort. “You remember, don’t you?”

No. Chris didn’t want Wesker to say it and his crunched expression said he didn’t want to hear it. But since Wesker’s tone hinted malice and forewarning Chris knew it was coming and tensed, knowing full well and hating the fact that Wesker relished in the sensation of him doing so. Dammit, Wesker.

Wesker sighed as if he could hear the damnation out loud. He had Chris now, all that was left was to abuse him, to make him suffer. Wesker knew how and smirked, just as he had _then_. “In the _office_? Back in S.T.A.R.S.?”

Wesker advanced again for another kiss, taking in the sight of Chris’ face falling beforehand. It was such an endearing look, defeat. It made Chris come across as young and innocent as he did back then. How long he had waited for this. Years. Chris was willing then. But now, now was different. Now, the end was drawing nigh, the final curtain rising, and if Chris wouldn’t admit to remembering what they used to have Wesker would remind him.

This, would be their last goodbye – Wesker’s parting gift to Chris; his plan all along.

**Author's Note:**

> For the love of Wesker, press that kudos button!


End file.
